


Sparks

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Magic, Baker Dean Winchester, Bee-Lover Castiel (Supernatural), Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Curse Breaking, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Demisexual Dean Winchester, Dragon Castiel (Supernatural), Getting Together, Grumpy Castiel (Supernatural), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: The creepy house on the corner has been abandoned for years, everyone says. It's ramshackle and decrepit, the yard overgrown, the wrought iron fence bent and broken in some places. The adults in the neighborhood have asked the city to do something about that eyesore for so long, but the city insists that someone is paying property taxes on the house, therefore they cannot do anything about it.So, everyone ignores it and pretends it doesn't exist. They definitely don't go anywhere near it, either.Dean, though.Dean is drawn to it as if by gravity.Little by little, Dean repairs what he can. The monster inside the house ain't so bad, either.Y'know. For a monster.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 204
Kudos: 929
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a pwp but oh no, i fell in love.  
> dean is 16 when he and cas first met, but he is of age by the time they do... y'know, things.   
> this got stuck in my head and i literally could not write anything else until i was done with it.   
> any mistakes and typos are my own.

The dark house on the corner, the one that’s almost ramshackle and decrepit, the only thing holding it together the magic from the monster within… no one goes near it. 

Dean sure as hell doesn’t.

Not when his family moves into the neighborhood when he’s six, not when the kids dare him to when he’s ten, not even when his snot-nosed little brother says ‘I bet it’s empty’ when he’s twelve. 

There’s no proof of a monster living inside the house. No proof of even a human living inside the house. It just… exists, unbothered and rundown. It’s a stain on the otherwise pretty suburban neighborhood but any time a parent goes to the city council to see about getting it torn down, they deny the request, stating that the owner of the house pays their property taxes every single year without fail.

The house may look like shit, but someone cares about it. 

Still, no one ventures inside. 

When Dean’s sixteen, he walks the same path to school that has taken him past the house every single day since he was six years old. Today, though, the morning is hazy, foggy, and grey. Clouds hang low, there’s a bite in the air, and it’s early March but feels more like October. Looking at the house doesn’t help that weird feeling in his gut. He tightens the straps on his backpack where they rest near his armpits, eyeing the house critically. Has anyone even just… _knocked_? 

Dark. 

It’s seven in the morning on Tuesday, March fourth and Dean just feels… darkness seeping in around him the longer he stands in front of the house and stares. 

Movement flutters a torn, black curtain on the second floor. Dean’s green eyes are drawn to it, his brow furrowing slightly. The movement doesn’t startle him - it, instead, builds his curiosity. A bird? A squirrel? Some of the window panes are busted on the main floor, so there’s probably an animal kingdom living inside the house by now. How is someone paying taxes on this monstrosity? It’s an old Colonial-style home, two levels with a wraparound porch and an overgrown, huge yard. There’s a shed in the back that looks like most of the wood has rotted off the frame. Some of the porch looks rotten, too. Maybe that’s why no one knocks- it’s unsafe. 

Chewing his lip, Dean’s eyes are drawn to the window. The curtain flutters again. He’s not sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of blue, something bright and sapphire-like. 

The house is dark. 

Dean forces himself to walk away from it. Around the corner of the block with a few houses between them, he finds light. The sun peeks through a few clouds, the wind stops, and the chill is chased away from Dean’s bones. He looks back at the old house, frowning as it darkens his vision the second he lays his eyes on it.

Shuddering, Dean hurries his pace towards school.

He doesn’t notice that he doesn’t think about the house unless he’s looking directly at it. 

\--*--

There’s a weird gravitational pull that ensnares Dean when he walks home, one day. He’s passing by the creepy house on the other side of the road, pointedly not looking at it, but… his feet cross the road without his permission, anyway. He stands at the wrought iron gate framing the overgrown path that leads up to the house, frowning softly. He’s been doing so good avoiding the house, not thinking about it or looking at it, but now he’s suddenly standing at the entrance to the lair, chewing his lip and gripping the straps of his backpack tight.

What would it hurt to go up and knock? Just to see. No one’s gonna answer, probably, so what… does it matter? 

The wrought iron gate swings open on a breeze felt nowhere else in the neighborhood. Dean passes through the arch slowly, feeling the weeds and burrs tickling his ankles and calves as he walks. If he’d known he was gonna investigate an abandoned house today he would have worn pants, not shorts. But it’s so hot outside the strange vortex of this house. 

The stairs are rickety but they’re not too rotten to step on. Dean watches the boards beneath him anyway, making sure to step only where he thinks it’s sound. Before he realizes it he’s at the door, short of breath. It almost feels like the air is thinner, like he’s climbed a mountain and the oxygen levels have depleted. The wind gets stronger here, whipping through Dean’s short hair and cooling his ears. It’s uncomfortable.

He stares at the door in front of him. It was probably pretty, once. The stained glass, oval-shaped window in the center has faded with time, gotten grimy with age, dust, and whatever else blows up through the weird vortex. The handle looks like it might have been made from a pretty metal, like brass or bronze, but it’s green and worn down. Frowning softly, Dean lifts his hand to knock.

Wouldn’t hurt, right?

The wind swishes again and on the back of it is the most deafening, terrifying roar Dean has ever heard in his life. It freezes his blood cold and jumpstarts his heart and then he’s flying off of the porch, running down the steps on feet so light there’s no way he could damage anything. He goes down the path, through the gate, and when he’s on the street he doesn’t stop running until he’s at his own doorstep.

“Does a fucking T-Rex live there?!” He pants to himself, bent over his knees and trying to calm his arrhythmic heart. 

“What about T-Rexes?” Sam asks, opening the door.

Dean startles back, clutching at his chest through his shirt. “Jesus Christ, Sammy!” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. And, uh,” he looks up and down the block with exaggeration, “I don’t see any T-Rexes.” 

Trying to gather his sanity, Dean forces himself to smile and reach out to ruffle Sam’s overlong hair. “That’s ‘cause they’re all in your bedroom messing it up so mom can yell at you later.” 

“Shut up,” Sam says snottily. 

Dean heads inside his house without looking back. 

He’ll never look back.

\--*--

A week and a half later Dean’s on the doorstep again. It’s a Saturday morning and he just finished mowing Miss Moseley’s lawn, his skin warm and the pits of his t-shirt damp. That weird breeze is swirling around the house again, though this time Dean’s prepared to feel it. He braces against the gusts, lifts his hand to knock, and raps his knuckles against the stained glass, carefully at first in case it breaks. Finding it sturdy, he knocks again, louder this time. 

The roar that rumbles through the house is a little more subdued, this time, though it still vibrates Dean’s feet up to his knees. Breath coming erratic, especially since he can’t catch it, Dean watches in a mixture of horror and fascination as the once-pretty handle of the door rattles, twists, then turns. The door cracks open and all Dean registers is sapphire gems, two of them, oddly-shaped and brighter than any star Dean has ever seen. 

The door opens a smidge wider and reveals… a person. A man, specifically, with tan skin, a frown, and messy hair. He looks… clean? Is Dean’s first thought. For living in such a shithole the guy looks kinda sleep-rumpled but otherwise put-together, a robe pulled over his clothes and held shut at the chest with a broad, tan hand.

Dean’s shocked.

The wind quiets. 

The man’s sapphire eyes blink and turn more human, the frown on his face definitely nothing like a dinosaur. 

“Who… are you?” The man asks, his voice rough like he hasn’t talked in years. Maybe he hasn’t?

“Um-” Dean’s tongue swells a little with nerves. “Dean. I uh- I live down the street and… y’know, no one ever sees you, and your house is kinda…” he trails off when the man’s eyes travel slowly down his body, taking everything in. Unsure how to react under the scrutiny, Dean straightens slightly. “My name’s Dean. What’s your name?” 

The frown intensifies on the man’s face, his eyes narrowing sharply. He looks… feline? He shuts the door a fraction, but not completely. “Do not disturb me.” 

“But-” 

The door slams. 

Dean stares at it in surprise. He looks down at the handle, watching some of the green melt away to reveal the intricate bronze inlay. A patch in the stained glass window clears. 

The wind howls again - literally - and Dean catapults off of the porch again. Today he’s a little less freaked out, though, knowing that there’s actually a person inside the house, but that doesn’t leave him any less confused.

There’s a _person_ living in that code violation. 

\--*--

Dean returns the next day, Sunday, after he suffers through church with his family. His mom is always happy to dress up her boys and cart them off, though John is always grumbly about it, to which Dean can relate, but is more frowned upon if he actually voices it. On the front porch of the weird guy’s house, Dean blinks in surprise at the front door. The bronze handle is completely free of yuck, and half of the stained glass window is clear enough to reveal that it’s a rather intricate detailing of a… 

Is that a dragon?

Dean knocks.

Again, the door cracks open only a fraction, blue eyes glaring hotly at Dean. 

“Hey, uh,” Dean offers what he thinks is a charming smile. “Maybe we didn’t get off on the right foot yesterday. Your uh, your yard is…” he gestures idly. “I do a lot of yard work around the block for folks who can’t do it themselves.” 

“No.” 

The man slams the door again. 

The wood of the door starts to gain color, the frayed paint chips righting themselves to lay down and reveal a beautiful, rich mahogany hue. 

“Your yard’s an eyesore, man! Let me clean it up!”

The door cracks open again, a rumbling roar seemingly coming from the depths of the house as the man tries to kill Dean with his eyes. Honestly, Dean should probably be a little scared, but so far this guy has refused to leave the shelter of his home, so Dean feels like he’s at least safe from physical contact.

“Why.” The rumble almost seems to be coming from the man’s chest. 

“I just told you,” Dean says, standing his ground. “Have you even seen your yard recently?” 

The man’s critical eyes sweep past Dean towards his front lawn, no doubt taking in the overgrown grass and weeds. Something in his demeanor softens, but only briefly. He cuts a narrow glance towards Dean, growling, “You will mess it up.”

“It’s already messed up, what could I do?” he replies, exasperated. 

“I do not need your _sass_ ,” the man hisses. 

“Look, I’ll just start by using the weed whacker to trim some stuff up and then go over it with a mower. Then we can talk about the hedges and the uhh....” Dean cranes his neck to try and see around the wraparound porch to his right. “Rose bushes?” 

“If it will get you to leave me alone: fine.”

“You do realize it’s just a weekend worth of work and I’m gonna be knockin’ on your door again, right?” 

“You do not need to knock,” the man says cryptically. “I know when you’re here.” 

“Alllllllrighty then,” Dean says with a slow nod. “So can I?” 

The man squints, long lashes nearly kissing his high cheekbones. Shoot, Dean should definitely not be focused on the fact that this guy might be really hot if he’d stop glaring for two seconds. Then again, maybe that’s what makes him hot in the first place…

“Fine.”

The door slams. 

Dean grins. 

\--*--

Of course, the instant Dean starts doing anything to the creepy yard, the neighbors notice. Sam comes up first, kicking idly at the lopsided iron fence as he tries to feign disinterest.

“Mom says you shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“I got permission from the guy,” Dean says, breathless as he wipes sweat from his brow. He’s got a spade with a long handle, digging up the tough weeds by the roots.

“What?!” Sam exclaims, looking up to the house. “There’s someone living here?” 

“Yep,” Dean says, wrestling with the weed for a few seconds before finally freeing it from the earth. “Kind of a dick but said I could take care of his yard. Clean it up.”

Sam gawps. “Have you told anyone you met him?” 

“Nah,” Dean shrugs, leaning his arm on the handle of the spade so he can catch his breath. “You wanna help me?” 

Sam skirts a nervous glance towards the house, turning pale. Dean glances back just in time to see the curtain in the window of the second floor fluttering. “N-no, you um… you’re the one who does all the yard work!” He turns on heel, running away from the house. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “What a baby. S’not that bad here.” 

Of course, Dean’s hot, but the sun isn’t shining directly on him. As he pulls up weeds manually and starts praying it’ll be time for the weed whacker soon, he notices that the dingy atmosphere of the house’s yard slowly starts to lift as he cleans it up. It’s nearly an all day job, Dean finishing one pass with the mower with the blades at a high level and already knowing it’ll need another pass with the blades at a lower level. He’s hot, he’s hungry, but he feels a little accomplished. Now that he can see the majority of the yard he sees that it was once beautiful, maybe even opulent, all sorts of flower bushes lining the cracked sidewalk and the perimeter of the yard along the iron fence. 

Smiling to himself, he hops up the steps of the porch to the front door. He doesn’t knock, but he doesn’t need to because the second he pulls his shirt up at the hem to wipe his brow with it, the door cracks open. The man’s eyes glue to his stomach, which makes Dean a little self-conscious as he immediately drops his shirt. He’s built rather solidly, but there’s a bit of pudge on his lower tummy that gives away his habit of eating pies frequently for dessert.

“I did what I could today,” Dean says, to talk over the awkwardness. He gestures out towards the yard. “I’ll have to make another pass with the mower next weekend but after that we can talk about the bushes. You got a lotta flowers here that I’m not really sure I can revive.” 

“Mower…” the man’s low voice repeats. When Dean looks at him again he sees those intense eyes focused on where he has his tools piled by, and in, the wheelbarrow. “Is that what made all the racket?” 

Dean arches a brow and laughs lightly. This guy must really be a hermit. “Uh, yeah. And the whacker too. Your yard is like a jungle, man.” 

“I would much prefer a jungle to this… inelegant heap,” the man frowns.

“Uhhh,” caught off-guard by the weird statement, Dean rocks back on his heels slightly. “Anyway, s’alright if I come by next weekend? Finish up, then we can take a look at what bushes you wanna try to save and what I can dig up?” 

The tan hand that normally clutches at his robe shifts to wrap long, beautiful fingers around the edge of the door. The man always regards Dean like he’s some sort of alien, gaze lingering specifically on his clothes or shoes. It’s only been a few times, but Dean’s starting to get used to it. 

“Will that require me to… come outside?” the man asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean shrugs slightly. “Unless you just trust me?” He asks curiously. Does the guy have some sort of skin condition that means he can’t come out in the sun? Although his tan wouldn’t make sense…

The man’s gaze darts back and forth from Dean to his newly-trimmed yard a few times, before he closes the door slightly - not all the way, but enough so that just one of his eyes is visible. “I… trust you.” 

“Great,” Dean grins. “We’ll get everything all cleaned up then we can talk about if you wanna plant anything new, ok?”

“Fine.” The door slams. 

By now he’s used to the man’s rude departures. Dean turns around and hops down the steps of the house, gathering all his tools and making his way back to his house. His mom and Sam are on the front porch, clearly waiting for him, antsy and looking ready to burst with questions.

“Uh… hey?” Dean asks unsurely as he passes them, heading around back to put all the stuff back in the shed.

“Dean, honey,” Mom and Sam both follow him around. “Is there someone living in that house?”

“Yeah?” Dean says with a shrug. The noise of putting everything away prevents him from talking more, but when he has the shed doors securely shut he turns and looks at both of them before focusing on his mom. “You said that the city said someone was paying property taxes, right? He lives there.”

Mom frowns. “Why does he never come out?” 

“Dunno,” Dean says. “Think he has some sort of health condition. He barely opens the door and… well, he’s actually kind of a dick. But he’s letting me clean up his yard.”

Mom’s brow furrows. “Language, honey.” She turns thoughtful. “He never leaves, but I never see groceries get delivered…”

“Maybe he’s a doomsday prepper,” Sam supplies helpfully. “Has his basement all stocked up with food in case of World War Three.” 

“Maybe,” Dean shrugs. “Is it a really big deal, mom? I just think… no one’s ever really _gone over_ there, y’know? Y’all just talk about it like it’s an eyesore but haven’t made the effort to go over.” 

Mom looks a little cowed. “You’re right, sweetie.” She reaches out to pull him towards her so she can press a kiss to Dean’s sweaty brow. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Alright, that’s all I can take for the day,” Dean says good-naturedly, pulling away from his mom and reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair. “What’s for dinner?

\--*--

The following weekend, Dean gets down to business. He gets the front and backyard cleaned up, spic and span; he marvels at how overgrown it is and yet… there’s no trash anywhere. He’s yet to experience that weird wind or even the strange roars, wondering if it’d all been in his head. As he cleans up, he starts taking photos on his cell phone of various bushes and sections of yard he wants to talk to the man about. If he won’t come outside and look at them, Dean can just show him. Ah, the beauty of technology.

On the front porch Dean barely has to wait before the door is cracked open. Something about the man is… different? Today? Dean blinks a few times, trying to figure it out, then settles on: his hair is brushed. Ish. And instead of a robe he’s wearing clothes. Well… Dean’s pretty sure they were standard clothes at one point; fitted black slacks with a crease down each leg, a white button-up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, and a deep burgundy waistcoat with an emerald green pocket square.

Arching a brow in surprise, Dean blurts, “You’re dressed.”

The man looks… shy?, as he ducks his head and opens the door a bit wider so Dean can fully see his outfit. He smooths his hands over the sharp creases in his slacks and says, “I am.” 

“Huh,” Dean marvels aloud. 

“Do you…” the man trails off, looking up at Dean through his lashes before seemingly catching himself. He clears his rough throat, squares his shoulders, then nods towards the yard. “Are you finished?”

“Oh- yeah,” Dean fumbles for a second, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his basketball shorts. The man’s gaze lingers on his shorts for a second, before they widen when Dean shows him the phone and starts swiping through the photos. “I got all the brush and weeds cleared away, but there are some bushes against the back porch that look pretty rough. Think they’re dead. Man, it’s like it doesn’t even rain here. Anyway, I think those need to be torn up, and I, uh, m’really sorry, but I think all the bushes that had flowers are all… done for…” He trails off when the man reaches out to wrap elegant fingers around his wrist, carefully drawing his phone closer to his face.

“These… are photos of my yard…?” the man asks. 

Dean swallows. Blinks. Shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, man.” His skin feels _scorched_ where the man touches.

The man frowns deeper. He looks like he’s about to ask something, then seems to bottle it up. He straightens his posture - he’s about three inches taller than Dean - then nods. “I see. If the plants aren’t salvageable, then they should be brought up.” He meets Dean’s gaze, though his eyes dip to Dean’s sweaty collarbones a few times, before words finally leave his mouth. “It has occured to me that I should be offering you compensation for your work.” 

“Oh-” Dean starts a little, shaking his head. “No, sir, I do all the yardwork in the neighborhood for free. Don’t feel right.” 

The man frowns. “How do you earn money?” 

“I… don’t?” Dean says curiously. “I mean- I get an allowance from my parents every week for doin’ whatever around the house, but I’m in school. High school.” 

“High school…?” the man frowns deeper. It’s the most Dean has ever heard him talk and while he’s finding himself enjoying the whiskey-rough timber of his voice, he also finds himself curious about how the man seems to be processing information. 

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “It’s no biggie, man. Besides, the parents around the neighborhood have been complaining ‘bout your yard for ages. Figured I’d do us all a favor and get started on it, y’know?”

The man mouths the word ‘biggie’, then hunches a little when Dean mentions the eyesore aspect of the man’s house. “I see. I haven’t been able to go out in… a long time, to tend to my house and yard. I apologize for it turning into a hinderance.” 

“Hey man, like I said, no biggie.” Dean watches the man mouth the word again, like he’s never heard it before. His phone screen times out, which causes the man’s blue eyes to open owlishly.

“Where did the pictures go?” 

Now Dean can’t help but grin a little. He double-taps the screen, watching the man’s light up in fascination. “Right here. If you don’t touch the screen for a while it turns off to save power.”

“Screen?” The man reaches out to tap the phone curiously. The photo he touches enlarges, his eyes growing wider. 

He allows the man to swipe through his photos a bit, thankful he’s got all of his… _other_ photos in a different folder. After a moment, Dean speaks softly, “You gonna tell me your name…?” 

The man closes in on himself a little, dropping his hand from Dean’s phone. He looks like he’s about to slam the door shut, like he usually does, but he seems to stop himself at the last second, knuckles white on the edge of the door. His pink, pink lips tremble a little, tongue coming out to dart them, before he looks up at Dean through his lashes again. 

“Castiel.” 

Dean feels a bit of warmth bloom in his chest. His lips spread in a smile, eyes soft. “Nice to meet you, Cas.” 

The man’s cheeks pinken, and then he slams the door in Dean’s face. Dean laughs a little to himself, starting to feel less and less offended every time the man - Castiel - closes the door on him.

\--*--

Communicating with Castiel through a crack in his front door is difficult. Dean wants to show him the yard, get his opinions on things, but Castiel seems reluctant to leave his home… and equally reluctant to let anyone inside. Dean’s not quite sure how to fix this problem. He can mow lawns, remove weeds, plant pretty bushes… but dealing with a recluse of an indeterminable age is an entirely different manner. Especially when Dean reflects on their conversations and thinks that Castiel doesn’t know anything about technology, or how the world has advanced while he’s been shut inside his house. 

The next weekend when Dean goes over, Castiel is peeking through the open door before Dean even ascends the steps. Dean sees that the door is now back in pristine condition; stained mahogany with a bronze handle and a beautiful stained glass pictorial of an elegant dragon, one with shimmering turquoise scales flying over a beautiful valley, the sun and the clouds giving it a fantastical and peaceful feel. The windows on the first floor have started to come back to life, as well; broken glass has been repaired, the sills and frames freshly dark grey anything but dull. The siding is coming back bit by bit, a cool, pale grey, but Dean thinks it will take time for them to return to their full potential.

He’s never seen anyone doing work on the house, but as it seems to magically restore itself… he doesn’t question it. It just feels right.

“Heya Cas,” Dean greets.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies softly.

“Ready to talk about what we wanna do with the landscaping?” 

“Could you…” Castiel licks his lips, gesturing towards the pocket of Dean’s shorts. “Show me some options?” 

“On my phone?” Dean asks to confirm. Castiel nods, so Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Sure, man. What kinda flowers did you have before? Bet I could find ‘em. I uh, you don’t gotta pay me but I do need some spending cash to get these things.” 

“Of course,” Castiel says. “I can give you money.”

“Cool.” Dean doesn’t unlock his phone screen, instead looking towards the small porch swing to his left. It’s come a long way from the shambles it was before, the first time Dean climbed these steps. “You wanna come out here and sit? Be easier for us to discuss what you wanna do. You don’t gotta come off the porch.”

Castiel’s knuckles turn white as he darts his gaze around his own yard, then beyond to the neighboring houses. He seems to war with himself for a few moments before he finally opens the door wider. Today he’s wearing another three-piece set, this time the color all black with gold accents. His shoes are ornate and shiny, hesitant as he steps through the door frame, like something will strike him down if he leaves his house. When nothing happens Dean thinks he breathes a sigh of relief. Dean does, too.

They move to sit on the porch swing, which has also regained its life. The frame is a beautiful, plain white, the chains a sparkling gold, the cushions looking hand-sewn with an intricate floral pattern stitched into it. They sit, their combined weight making the swing groan- they both tense for a moment, then settle, Castiel petting the cushion and the arm of the swing thoughtfully.

“You make this swing?” Dean asks. 

Castiel shakes his head. “My sister…” His gaze cuts towards Dean, then narrows in a scowl. “Plants.” 

“Ok, ok,” Dean lifts his hands in surrender. Castiel wrinkles his nose. He’s got to be close to forty, maybe? He has crow’s feet and the hoods of his eyes are drooped slightly; he doesn’t look particularly young, but he doesn’t look old, either. His clothes frame a fit, stacked body, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and thick thighs. Dean’s not a pervert so he won’t think about how the man’s ass might look. Maybe. He unlocks his phone and holds it out so they can both see it, pulling up the website for a local landscaping and greenhouse service. “Here we go. You had a lotta rose bushes, you wanna get more?” 

Castiel chews his lower lip thoughtfully. Hesitantly, he reaches to touch the phone; when Dean doesn’t tell him to stop he swipes along the photos, reading the descriptions for each one. “Roses,” Castiel confirms, “all different colors. As many as they have.”

Dean raises his brows. “They have like… twenty different types of roses.”

Castiel nods. “Two of each.” 

Dean glances at the price of just a single rose bush. “These are fifteen bucks a pop.” 

Castiel waves a hand. “I have no worries about how much things will cost.” 

Blinking a few times, Dean shrugs a little. He eventually hands his phone to Castiel so his wrist doesn’t cramp up, watching closely as Castiel figures out how to click around and navigate. They’re quiet while Castiel peruses, Dean taking mental note of the things that he likes; so far it’s just really important that he gets a bunch of rose bushes. He can’t seem to decide on what other flowers he wants to decorate with, but when he hands Dean his phone back, he looks at him critically.

“Do you like doing… what you’re doing for me?” 

Dean shrugs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. Your yard is a huge project. I like projects. I like seein’ things through to the end and workin’ with my hands. Feels good, y’know?” 

Castiel eyes him, again from head to toe, though by now Dean feels a little less shivery when he does it. “Then aside from the rose bushes, you may choose whatever you like.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What if I choose something you hate?”

“You won’t,” Castiel says confidently.

Dean fidgets with his phone. “When I’m done… you’ll come out to look at it, right? Actually see it? Not just through photos on my phone?” 

“I think,” Castiel looks up at the sky. Over his house is dingy grey, though some blue peeks through, “by the time you are done, I will be able to.” 

Dean watches Castiel’s features. In moments like this, when he’s not grumpy or confused, just observing things casually… Dean feels a pull towards him.

Then again, something has always drawn Dean to this house.

To Castiel.

“Alright,” Dean says with a smile. “I won’t disappoint you.”

\--*--

Over the next month Dean reserves weekends for Castiel’s. He starts mowing the neighbors’ lawns on weekdays so he can have all of Saturday and Sunday free, _and_ , his mom has stopped making him go to church so he can have more time at Castiel’s. Bonus awesome.

As he works, the house starts to put itself back together. Plank by plank, shingle by shingle, the house starts to regain its original beauty. It looks less ramshackle every time Dean finishes working in the yard, and while he should probably question how the house is magically putting itself back together, he thinks of the recluse that lives inside, the man who gets confused by cell phones and slang words, the man who handed Dean a _bag of gold_ to pay for the greenery he bought. Boy, the guy at the Gold & Pawn had been gobsmacked when Dean put the bag on the counter.

Then Dean had been gobsmacked that Castiel had given him _two thousand dollars_ worth of gold. 

Castiel had said he’s not worried about money, but Dean still spent cautiously and carefully. Castiel had wanted all the different breeds of roses the greenhouse had to offer, so Dean had bought two of each, as instructed. He asks the greenhouse to keep them on standby so he can repair the iron fence that lines the perimeter of Castiel’s property, which takes up a whole weekend in and of itself. Dean’s a novice welder, but by the time he’s done the fence is straight, the gate isn’t squeaky, and the yard is ready to be filled in. 

Dean works tirelessly. The house continues to repair itself. He feels Castiel’s eyes on him even when he can’t see him. The dark cloud over the house dissipates and on the final day Dean puts the finishing touches on the yard, wiping the sweat from his brow, the sun kisses his skin for the first time since setting foot on the property. He smiles, turning his face up into the sun, his ears catching the sound of the back door opening. Grinning wider, Dean turns to see Castiel cautiously exiting his house via the back door for the first time, his gaze bouncing around the yard to take everything in.

“Dean…” Castiel breathes.

“Cas,” Dean replies, jogging up the steps. It’s now early May, the new summer sun unforgiving. He’s got sweat stains on his collar, pits, and back, but he doesn’t care as he gestures grandly to the yard. “Here we are.”

Castiel’s outfit today is powder blue with lilac accents. He never wears bright colors, and Dean wonders why, because as Castiel carefully descends the steps into his own personal Garden of Eden, he looks… incredible. Beautiful. His tan hands reach out to touch flowers as he passes them, their petals almost reaching back towards him as he walks. Dean stands on the bottom step, arms loosely folded over his chest as Castiel walks around his yard for the first time in… hell, who knows how long. 

After doing a lap of both the back and front yard with Dean trailing him, Castiel leads Dean up the steps. His eyes are a little misty; Dean reaches out to awkwardly, gently pat his shoulder, which cause Castiel to let out a little whuff of laughter.

Some black smoke erupts from his nose, sparking gold and sizzling faintly. 

Dean stares. Castiel freezes, his eyes widening as a hand flies up to cover his nose. 

“Thank you for all your work, Dean,” Castiel says, his low voice muffled by his hand. He starts to walk backwards towards his door; the whole house has been fully repaired, looking like it must have on the day it’d been built over two hundred years ago in this sleepy little town. 

“Cas-” Dean reaches out. He doesn’t want Castiel to run away.

Castiel gives a minute shake of his head. “You may keep the rest of the gold as payment. I relieve you of your duties.” 

Castiel disappears inside the house and takes a part of Dean with him.

\--*--

Dean doesn’t go back to Castiel’s. He takes the compliments from all of the neighbors on a job well done, brushes off the compliments of getting work on the house done, too, wow, when did you find time for that?, and just generally keeps to himself. Summer ends. The house on the corner doesn’t get gloomy when the weather does. When it snows, the yard stays in full bloom, clear of snow and frost. Dean doesn’t pay it any mind. In fact, when he was done working on it, the house seemed to fade from everyone else’s memory. 

Spring comes around again. At seventeen and nearly done with his senior year, Dean has to think about college and what he wants to do with his life. He sneaks glances at Castiel’s yard, thinks about how he’d taken on that monstrous project all on his own and completed it. How good it felt to watch Castiel wander around and appreciate every little thing he did.

He thinks about Castiel.

There’s a thousand dollars cash in his dresser that he doesn’t touch. It’ll burn a hole in the wood if he doesn’t do something with it.

The house on the corner remains beautiful and untouched. 

Dean stands in front of the wrought iron gate on a late May afternoon, staring at the front door. The stained glass window has changed from a dragon soaring to a dragon slumbering, and Dean can’t help but wonder what that symbolizes. 

Dean can’t help. 

He walks away, frustrated.

\--*--

A week later, he’s standing in front of Castiel’s door. He wonders if he has to knock, now?

That question gets answered when the door creaks open. There’s no Castiel, though. Curious, Dean leans in to push the door open slightly, peeking inside the house. It’s… grand, from what he can see. The foyer is huge, with dark polished wood and European-style decorations. He doesn’t hear that growling rumble, the wind doesn’t blow violently, so he continues to open the door until he enters the house fully, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. 

It’s quiet, but not eerily so.

He can sense Castiel’s presence, he just doesn’t know where he is. 

Dean decides to take his time. The inside of the house is immaculate. Dean wonders if it was once decrepit as the outside, magically renovated as well. In front of him is a staircase. There’s a sitting room to the right of the foyer, a place that looks like one could be served tea, with fancy furniture and furnishings and a china cabinet against the far wall. The curtains on the inside are lacy, letting in a lot of natural light; it’s a peaceful area, Dean thinks. He’s not a tea drinker, but he’d take a cup in there.

To the left is a formal dining room. The large table looks like it could seat eight, something fit for entertaining. The chairs look surprisingly comfortable. There’s a cased opening that leads into the kitchen, where Dean’s feet lead him. He wonders if he should have taken off his shoes, but he’s not grimy from yard work today; he’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt and regular sneakers, so he’s pretty sure he’s not tracking anything in. The kitchen is old farmhouse-style, offset from the other European-like qualities that Dean has seen so far. 

It’s all lightly-colored wood cupboards and beautiful white marble counters. A giant island in the middle acts as counter space and a cutting board; Dean runs his hand along the wooden surface thoughtfully. There’s an apron-style sink against the far wall, a gas stove with a huge hood, and an outdated but classic-looking fridge. Lots of windows, like the front of the house. Rounding through the kitchen brings him to the mudroom at the back of the house, with coat hangers and benches and a small powder room off to the side. Through the mudroom he enters what was possibly a guest bedroom, now converted into a small library. The walls are lined with shelves, each shelf nearly bowing with the weight of the books. Dean catches a few authors; Dickens, Whitman, Melville, Thoreau… nothing recent. 

Nothing is dusty. 

Dean doubles back through the kitchen and dining room, looking up the stairs. He debates not going up there, but that weird pull he hasn’t felt since last year grabs ahold of him and beckons him upwards. This time he does take off his shoes, so his feet don’t clunk all over the pretty wood. There are a lot of stairs, which, given the size of the house, is a little surprising. They seem to go on forever. 

At the top, Dean looks this way and that. There are only a few doors. He opens the first one and is immediately hit with the scent of roses, his nose wrinkling before he hides his face in the crook of his arm to stifle his sneeze. The bedroom is soft and clearly feminine, a vanity in the corner, the bed made prettily. Dean eyes it for a few moments before pulling away, shutting the door quietly. The door across the hall is a larger bathroom, equipped with a large bath tub and a counter with two sinks. 

He shuts that door, continuing down. Another library is behind the next door, this one looking much more homey and used. There’s a worn leather couch in the middle of the room and nothing else. His heart starts thumping. He shuts that door, turning towards the last door in the hallway. There’s a key in the lock, which Dean touches very, very delicately. His heart starts slamming against his ribs. He smells petrichor and burning wood chips, feels the hair on his body stand on edge; he turns the key, opens the door, and feels his breath stop completely.

It’s not a room that lies behind the door. It’s… a lair. 

A giant cave the size of a football field, in some sort of pocket dimension, sprawls out in front of Dean. There are piles and piles of treasure; trinkets, gold, silver, jewelry, fur… all sorts of things that Dean knows he’d fetch a pretty penny for if he were to take it back to Gold & Pawn. But he doesn’t feel the need to take anything from this… hoard. Instead, he walks in with wonder. There’s the faint smell of smoke and roses in the air as he makes his way farther into the cave, a rustling, and then a low rumble. The wind that used to blast him around on the front porch picks up a little, here, that rumble closer than ever before. It takes him a while to find the source, and when he does, things just sort of… click into place.

Lying before him is a great dragon. The dragon from the stained glass window on the front door, actually. Turquoise scales shimmer in the low light of the cave, the dragon the size of the house that Dean had been working around all summer. It sleeps peacefully, curled up on itself like a giant kitten, its wings lowered and almost protectively wrapped around itself. 

It’s Castiel.

Dean _feels_ it.

He walks up to the dragon. He should be scared, realistically; a _dragon_? In some weird alternate dimension inside the creepy house on the corner of the block? But he’s not. Dean reaches out to touch the dragon’s snout carefully, his hand half the size of the nostril it rests next to. One of the dragon’s eyes crack open, the slitted pupil dilating then shrinking as those blue eyes zero in on Dean. 

They stand in a stalemate. The dragon’s breath puffs out against Dean, ember-hot as it ruffles his hair and shirt. Dean leaves his hand where it is, staring up at the one eye looking at him. Very slowly the other eye opens. Even slower the dragon sits up slightly, its tail shifting and thwumping against the floor, rattling some coins and jewels nearby. But the dragon doesn’t turn into Castiel, doesn’t take a human form, and Dean frowns softly.

“This why I ain’t seen you ‘round?” 

The dragon shifts, stretches slightly, then curls back up on itself. 

“Hey,” Dean feels frustration finally crawl through his system. “I’m talkin’ to you.” 

The dragon opens one eye again. 

“Quit takin’ your depression nap and talk to me,” Dean demands. “I did all that work- all that stuff, and you just…” he huffs. “Whatever all this is-” he gestures around them, “-I don’t care, Cas! I thought we…” he deflates a little. “I thought we had somethin’,” he says, quieter. 

The dragon flaps its mighty wings, nearly knocking Dean over with the force of the wind. Dean takes a step back to steady himself, lifting his arms up to protect his head in case anything gets knocked loose and flies at him. The smell of smoke intensifies briefly, something _crack_!s in the air; Dean lowers his arms and is surprised to see Castiel standing in front of him, a robe wrapped tight around his body, his hair a mess and that familiar scowl on his features.

“Why have you returned?” Castiel demands. Some sparks fall from his lips with the words.

“Why did you leave me?” Dean shoots back, finally feeling all his frustration welling up. It’d been so easy to ignore his feelings when he wasn’t at the house every weekend, it’d been so easy to forget that he’d done all that work - like a spell that only puts the house in the forefront of his mind when he’s physically close to it. 

Castiel bites his tongue. His blue eyes shine, flames glowing in the dark sapphire depths. The stubble on his jaw is as 5 o’clock as ever - no more, no less. Castiel doesn’t change. Castiel doesn’t age. 

“I am cursed,” Castiel finally spits out. More sparks fall from his mouth, embers dripping from his pink lips. 

Dean throws his hands up, “I’ve gathered that! But I-” he really wants to strangle Castiel. He folds his arms tightly over his chest instead. “I thought I made a difference.” He says stubbornly, trying to keep the waver out of his voice.

Castiel eyes him cautiously for a moment, then drops his gaze. He wraps the robe tighter around himself. “You did, Dean.” He sighs softly, most of the fight leaving his body, tension bleeding out of him. His gaze lifts again, meeting Dean’s, softer than it’s ever been before, even if it is a little resigned. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Whatever makes you talk,” Dean says, nose in the air so he doesn’t start sniffling like a baby at the relief of Castiel talking to him. 

They leave the dragon lair, exiting through the door Dean had entered. Castiel turns the key in the lock but leaves it in the hole, leading Dean back down the stairs to the kitchen. Dean leans against the counter, knowing better than to talk right now, even if all he wants to do is tell Castiel how much he missed him, tell Castiel he’s an idiot, tell Castiel he-

“Milk?” Castiel interrupts his thought.

Dean looks down at the delicate teacup in Castiel’s broad, tan hand. What a contrast. Letting out a little sigh, Dean shrugs. “Never had tea.”

“I’ll make it sweet,” Castiel decides. He doctors two cups of tea, puts them on a tray along with a pot and two other steel canisters, silently leaving the kitchen to head to the parlor. Dean joins him, both of them sitting on the cozy couch, Castiel placing the tea tray on the coffee table. Tea table? 

Dean picks up his tea, sniffing it before taking a small sip. His surprise must show on his face, because Castiel chuckles softly. Smoke tendrils spill onto his lap. Dean thinks that must be why he’s never seen Castiel laugh, before. 

“My sister and I are from Hungary, originally,” Castiel starts without prompting. He doesn’t pick up his tea, instead fidgeting with the sash of his robe and staring down into his lap. “We moved to London, and when it was too dangerous to live there, we moved here.”

“What was dangerous?” Dean frowns, then makes a gesture with his hand that might indicate wings. 

Castiel hums. “Dragons have always been hunted. We are not the evil creatures from the lore, as depicted by most cultures around the world. We lead peaceful, quiet lives. We hoard, we nest, and we fly. Humans… couldn’t understand us because we were large and scary. Then they put a price on our scales.” He closes his eyes, leaning back against the sofa. “My sister and I had been lucky in all our years to have never encountered a hunter.” 

Dean frowns a little, setting his teacup on the tray. He draws a knee up on the couch, regarding Castiel quietly. How long as it been since Castiel has told this story? 

_Has _he ever told this story?__

__“We didn’t know that witches were our biggest enemy. When we first came to America, the witches were relentless. Dragon’s blood is a sought after spell ingredient, even if it is in human form. We moved all over the country for… centuries, until we found this settlement. Low population, simple folk who had no idea that witches were even a thing.”_ _

__Dean blinks. “Centuries?”_ _

__Castiel nods, bypassing Dean’s query and continuing. “We lived here peacefully for a hundred years or so. But one of the townsfolk… an ugly, ugly man, named Zachariah Adler, had his suspicions about us. Anael and I never harmed a single person. We harvested flowers from our gardens to supply the local florist with rare plants she could not grow herself. At first, Zachariah thought we were witches. But when he brought in his witch cousin to banish us…” Castiel’s eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, hollow. “She learned the truth.” His voice becomes a little mechanical. “The witch killed Anael, but before she could get to me, I created a portal in my bedroom that led to the safety of my lair. Only those pure of heart may turn the key.” He closes his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The witch hexed my house. So long as I kept myself hidden away, the house and its land rotted. Just as someone with pure of heart could enter my lair, only a person of great bravery and courage could walk on the cursed land. It would then be up to the person to either destroy my home, or…” Castiel finally opens his eyes, looking towards Dean. “...revitalize it.”_ _

__Flapping his lips a little, Dean points at himself and blubbers, “ _I’m _pure of heart?”___ _

____Castiel sends him a wry smile. “I was just as shocked as you.”_ _ _ _

____Rolling his eyes, Dean tries to digest all the information. Before he can come to any sort of solid conclusion, Castiel speaks softly._ _ _ _

____“You were drawn to the house, to _me_ , because the curse ached to be broken. My magic was not strong enough to negate the hex, but it was strong enough to lure someone who could.”_ _ _ _

____Finally, Dean frowns a little. “But I’m not magic. I didn’t even know magic existed until… well, ‘til I started noticing your house fixing itself.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel picks up his teacup, taking a slow sip, before setting it back down again. “There’s a little magic in everyone, Dean.”_ _ _ _

____Unable to help it, Dean snorts a laugh. He covers his mouth, but another laugh barks out of him. All of the weird feelings, all of the anger and frustration suddenly bleed from him in hearty laughter, tears in his eyes, cheeks flushed as he tosses his head back against the arm of the settee, wrapping his arms around his stomach as it starts to ache from his laughing. Castiel watches curiously, blue eyes owlish, and when Dean finally calms down enough to sit up and start wiping the tears from his face, still smiling huge, Castiel leans slightly towards him._ _ _ _

____“Are… you alright?”_ _ _ _

____Dean lets out a few more chuckles, then nods. “Man, that explains so much. Your weird clothes, why you had no idea what a freaking phone was…” he wipes at another tear, looking at Castiel fondly. “But I thought it was kinda cute, how dorky and awkward you were.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel bristles a little, some soot shooting out of his nose and powdering over his lap like black snow. “I am not _awkward_. I am a _dragon_. Human technology is not something I need to concern myself with.” _ _ _ _

____“Yeah, big bad dragon, _ooOoOoh_ ,” Dean laughs again. Castiel pouts - he _pouts_!! - which causes Dean to lean towards him as well. “Cas, I said it was cute.” _ _ _ _

____Now Castiel turns his nose up, and he’d look rather prissy and regal if he weren’t wearing a heavy bathrobe covered in soot and ash. “I am not cute.”_ _ _ _

____“Pretty sure you are,” Dean says, reaching for his teacup again._ _ _ _

____A comfortable silence settles over them. Castiel drops the act and picks up his own cup, eyeing Dean curiously. “You are not… concerned about this turn of events?”_ _ _ _

____“What, that you’re a dragon and magic exists?” Dean asks. Castiel nods. Dean shrugs. “Honestly I’m more shocked that the doctor says Sammy’ll be taller than me one day.” Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he sends Castiel a slightly crooked smile. “Also I was a little concerned you just didn’t like me.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel snorts in amusement. Some ash falls into his teacup as he picks it up, but he pays it no mind. “I’m entitled to be grouchy when I’m disturbed from a nap.”_ _ _ _

____Dean nods a few times, then purses his lips. “Ssssooo… is this like, a fairy tale? The beautiful maiden rouses the grumpy dragon from its slumber so they can live happily after?”_ _ _ _

____Castiel’s fingers tremble on his teacup a little before he coughs lightly. The sparks that fall from his nose are pink. “Most humans would be wary to fall in love with a dragon.”_ _ _ _

____“M’not most humans,” Dean points out._ _ _ _

____“Are you in love with me?” Castiel snaps, suddenly cranky. The sparks from his nose turn blue._ _ _ _

____Dean puts his hands up. “Hey, quit it. No, I’m not in love with you. But…” he licks his lips. Pure of heart, brave and courageous? He’s not sure if those things apply to him; he just knew he had to see Castiel again. So maybe he’s not in love, but perhaps… “You need a friend. I wanna be that for you.”_ _ _ _

____“Why,” Castiel asks, suspicious._ _ _ _

____“‘Cause you clearly need one, dude. How long you been alone?”_ _ _ _

____Castiel stares into his tea. “Anael has been gone since eighteen-ninety-two.”_ _ _ _

____Dean’s eyes bug out. “I uh, don’t wanna panic you, but it’s been over one-hundred and thirty years, buddy.”_ _ _ _

____“A speck on my timeline,” Castiel says._ _ _ _

____Dean stares. Looks down at his tea. Shifts his gaze to the soot on Castiel’s lap. Realizes that Castiel is _naked_ under his robe. Blushes down to his collar and looks away. Clears his throat. “Alright. I know you’re a dick but I still wanna help you.” _ _ _ _

____“Has anyone ever told you your manners and isms are incredibly unrefined?”_ _ _ _

____Laughing, Dean shrugs. “Not in as many words, but yeah.”_ _ _ _

____“You broke the curse,” Castiel says, “you no longer need to… ‘hang out’ with me.” The idiot makes air quotes with his fingers._ _ _ _

____“But I _want_ to,” Dean says, finally getting a little exasperated. “Will you just let it happen? You need human interaction and I want to be friends with a dragon. Win-win.” _ _ _ _

____“I once went one-thousand and two years without talking to a single human,” Castiel preens._ _ _ _

____Dean rolls his eyes._ _ _ _

____This will be worth it._ _ _ _

____… Somehow._ _ _ _

____\--*--_ _ _ _

____With the curse broken, Castiel is able to freely leave his house. Not that he does, really; he wanders his own property, taking care of the shrubbery and flowers and plants, using magic to tend to them and keep bad weather at bay. The neighbors finally notice the house that’s been on everyone’s peripherals for so many years, and one by one they go and introduce themselves to Castiel. It’s hilarious to watch the dragon skitter awkwardly around conversation, especially since he still doesn’t know much about this era, but it’s even funnier to see the neighbor’s reactions to him._ _ _ _

____What’s not funny is Mom deciding she needs to take the whole Winchester clan over to Castiel’s house, armed with hamburger casserole and blueberry pie._ _ _ _

____“Ma, he doesn’t really like lotsa company,” Dean tries to plead with her, on Castiel’s behalf. “One at a time is more his speed. We’re gonna overwhelm him.”_ _ _ _

____Mom looks at Dean with surprise. “Oh- is he...?” She fumbles over her words slightly._ _ _ _

____Somehow, Dean knows what she means. He rolls his eyes. “No, mom. Or at least, I don’t think so. He’s just super socially awkward.”_ _ _ _

____Mom shrugs, “Well, you get over being socially awkward by having social interactions.” She finishes putting tin foil over the casserole dish, handing it over to a sulking Dean. “Go tell your father we’re on our way.”_ _ _ _

____Slouching out of the kitchen, wearing pink checkered oven mitts so he doesn’t burn his hands on the casserole dish, Dean enters the living room where Dad is half watching the game on TV, half reading the paper. “Mom says we’re getting ready to go.”_ _ _ _

____Like church, Mom had insisted that everyone get somewhat dressed up to go over to Castiel’s. Dad cleans up nice in dark denim and a dark blue button-up shirt; Dean reflects him with dark jeans and a dark maroon button-up shirt; Sam comes bounding down the stairs wearing khakis (haha, nerd) and a checked red and white shirt; Mom is wearing white slacks and a pretty pink blouse, her hair curled and makeup carefully applied. It’s a little much, but Dean recalls Castiel basically calling him a neanderthal, so maybe it… won’t be too much._ _ _ _

____Sam carries the pie, which is unfair, but smart, because Dean likes to stick his fingers into the filling and lick them clean before the family even slices into it. Dad and Mom bicker in the background about not having visited sooner; Dad insists that the guy could come out at any time but has chosen not to, Mom insists that the guy is probably shy and worried because his house was such an eyesore for so long._ _ _ _

____On the front porch, Dean closest to the door, they don’t need to knock. Castiel opens the door a crack, probably sensing the other people. He cautiously looks at them all - Dean sends him an exaggerated look, making a small gesture with his hand by his hip that his family can’t notice. Castiel’s eyes narrow in a glare. Dean sends him a falsely bright smile._ _ _ _

____Castiel opens the door fully. He still wears waistcoats and accessories, looking like a rich Lord from the nineteenth century, which Dean finds equal parts adorable and hot. Mom doesn’t seem to notice, Dad roves a critical eye over him, and Sam pushes through the crowd to hold out the pie._ _ _ _

____“Hi! We brought over dinner and dessert!”_ _ _ _

____Blinking plaintively down at the youngest Winchester, Castiel’s eyes then dart between all three of the strangers before landing on Dean, searching for help. Dean had been honest; Castiel can handle one-on-one interactions with only a few incidents, but an entire crowd?_ _ _ _

____“Hey, Castiel,” Dean greets, using the dragon’s full name to not give away their more… in depth friendship. No matter what, Dean is seventeen, and Castiel’s human form is a man approaching middle-age. “This is my family. We thought we’d bring over some food and get introduced. That ok?”_ _ _ _

____Licking pink, pink lips, Castiel ducks his gaze briefly. “Of course.” There’s something ticking in that giant, old brain, Dean can tell. Castiel is uncharacteristically nervous. “I would be honored to meet your family.”_ _ _ _

____Honored? Huh. Castiel opens the door wider, allowing the family inside. Mom immediately starts gushing about the decor, talking about original fixtures and how the house should probably be on the historical roster, and wow! Castiel did such a good job fixing it up! They find the dining room easily enough, Castiel shutting the front door, Dean handing off the casserole then hanging back a bit._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” Dean says lowly so his family can’t hear. “I didn’t think they’d swarm like this. Mom’s got a big heart, she just wants to make sure you’re ok.”_ _ _ _

____The corner of Castiel’s lip quirks ever so slightly. “I see where you get your nobility from.” Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel sends a furtive glance towards where Dad is taking a seat to the right of the head of the table. A few pink sparks rain from his nose, which he mops up with the kerchief from his breast pocket carefully and out of sight. “Your father… that is him?”_ _ _ _

____“Yep,” Dean says, hiding a blustery sigh by wiping his hand over his mouth. He’s used to soot and sparks falling from Castiel’s nose and lips by now. “He can be kind of a dick but he means well.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel squares his shoulders, the nervousness on his face replaced by determination. “I will prove worthy.”_ _ _ _

____Dean blinks. “Worthy-?” Before he can ask Castiel makes his way towards the table. Dean follows, mildly confused._ _ _ _

____Mom had no problem finding the china cabinet, the table set prettily. She also helped herself to the kitchen to grab odds and ends; cups, cutlery, and napkins. “Your house is so beautiful, Castiel!”_ _ _ _

____Castiel takes a seat at the head of the table, Dad at his elbow. Mom happily serves everyone a portion while the men all take their seats. Dean at Castiel’s left, Sam next to him, and Mom next to Dad._ _ _ _

____“Do you say Grace, Castiel?” Mom asks politely._ _ _ _

____Castiel sends her a curious glance. Of course, dragons probably don’t believe in God, let alone know anything about modern religion. Castiel has lived for thousands of years and has never mentioned God, Jesus, or anything like that to Dean yet. Dean clears his throat softly, sending Mom a small glance._ _ _ _

____“Cas is agnostic, ma.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh!” Mom laughs a little. “Well, then. Dig in!”_ _ _ _

____Castiel already knows everyone’s name, and Mom and Dad probably assumed so, given the fact no one’s introduced themselves. Dean has spent so much time coming and going from the house they probably just all figured that Castiel knows who they are. And that’s not a wrong assumption at all, really. Dean still has a bit of whiplash from his noisy family coming in to Castiel’s home, which is normally a quiet sanctuary; he can’t imagine how Castiel feels. But when he glances towards the dragon, the nervousness in his body seems to have dissipated, replaced by a calm, confident person._ _ _ _

____After a few bites, Castiel speaks up. “What is it you do for a living, Mary?”_ _ _ _

____Mom dabs at her mouth with her napkin, smiling at Castiel. “I’m a homemaker, mostly. I do crafts in my spare time and sell them online, though, for a pretty penny.”_ _ _ _

____“Mom cross stitches bad words onto pretty backgrounds,” Sam supplies, pushing his casserole around. There’s not enough vegetables in it for him, probably._ _ _ _

____Castiel raises a brow, glancing between Sam and Mom. “People… pay for nicely written bad words?”_ _ _ _

____“You’d be surprised at what makes money these days,” Mom says with a little laugh. “I also make quilts and scarves with curse words embroidered onto them.”_ _ _ _

____“Mom makes money offa cussing but the second I do it it’s the end of the world,” Dean grouses lightly._ _ _ _

____Castiel’s eyes are slightly wide. Mom is definitely a delicate, beautiful woman, so he’s surely surprised that she has such a crass past-time. Clearing his throat a little, Castiel turns his attention towards Dad. “John? Dean tells me you were a mechanic.”_ _ _ _

____Dad glowers a little, grunting between bites. “Between jobs right now.”_ _ _ _

____Something clicks in Castiel’s head, Dean sees it. No one else does, but the way Castiel’s pupils almost slit has some chills running down Dean’s spine._ _ _ _

____“How do you provide for your family?”_ _ _ _

____Dad looks annoyed at the inquiry. “Odd jobs here and there.”_ _ _ _

____Dean doesn’t like where this is going at all._ _ _ _

____Mom reaches to gently put her hand atop Dad’s. “Our house is all paid off, so we’re not too strapped.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel’s eyes narrow. He eyes Mom’s hand on Dad’s, then turns towards Dean. “You would not allow me to compensate you for your work here.”_ _ _ _

____Put on the spot, Dean tries not to splutter. “You left me the rest of the go- of the cash after I bought the stuff from the greenhouse. That was plenty.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel’s pupils slit more. No one but Dean seems to notice. “Did you save that money for yourself?”_ _ _ _

____Now everyone’s attention is on Dean. He flushes brightly, fork scraping lightly on his plate. “No.”_ _ _ _

____“Honey?” Mom’s voice is soft, curious. “That was almost a thousand dollars. Where did it go?”_ _ _ _

____Dean’s lips flap as he sighs. “Sammy’s college fund.”_ _ _ _

____“What?” Dad, Mom, and Sam all say, all eyes on Dean._ _ _ _

____“What?” Dean echoes defensively. “Kid needs it.”_ _ _ _

____“What about _your_ college fund?” Dad asks gruffly._ _ _ _

____“Not sure I wanna go to college,” Dean says quietly._ _ _ _

____Mom suddenly stands up, her smile too bright to be real. “I think I’ll start cleaning up. Hope everyone left room for pie!” She whisks away a few plates, hurrying towards the kitchen._ _ _ _

____“Why don’t you want to go to college, boy?” Dad asks, irritation in his voice._ _ _ _

____Castiel’s attention turns to Dad whip-quick. “I believe a decision like that should be left up to Dean.”_ _ _ _

____Dad bristles. He kind of looks like a dragon when he’s mad, too. “He ain’t your kid.”_ _ _ _

____Castiel’s jaw tenses, unclenches, tenses again. Dean knows he’s holding back grunts and snorts and wonders what it feels like to have all those sparks stuffed up in his nose. After letting out a few slow breaths, Castiel seems to have regained his composure. He looks like a Victorian duke in his dark purple outfit, the gold accents bringing out the fire in his eyes._ _ _ _

____“What are you doing to support him?” Castiel asks. The table goes dead quiet. Even the tap running in the kitchen stops, the clinking dishes quieting. “‘Between jobs’ is not suitable for the patriarch of the family. You are lucky you married such a strong, capable woman. You are also lucky you have two intelligent, capable sons. If you would like Dean to attend college, perhaps you should find a way to support him so he can.”_ _ _ _

____Panic starts pulsing in Dean’s veins. “Cas-”_ _ _ _

____“Or maybe you would be willing to pass the burden off to someone else?” Castiel continues. His spine is straight, all the sparks stopped up in his nose exploding in his sapphire eyes. Dad is frozen to the spot, mouth hanging open slightly. “Perhaps a man like you would be willing to pass his eldest son off to someone else who could take care of him, if only to relieve the weight on your own shoulders.”_ _ _ _

____“ _Cas_ -”_ _ _ _

____The dragon’s voice lowers to a growl. “I have done more for Dean in the past year than you have ever done in his entire life. I have cultivated his curiosity, his intelligence; I have encouraged his thoughts and dreams, helped him feel accomplished with even the smallest tasks. I daresay, John Winchester, that I have been a better role model in Dean’s life than his own father.”_ _ _ _

____“Stop!” Dean stands up, slamming his hands on the table. “Jesus Christ, you two! Dad,” Dean looks across the table at his shell shocked Dad. “I put the money in Sam’s account ‘cause I _know_ he’s gonna go to college. I don’t know what I want yet and it felt stupid to keep the money for myself. Cas,” Dean stares down at the dragon, who returns his glare placidly. “I am not some maiden for you to barter away from my dad, no matter what kinda relationship he and I have.”_ _ _ _

____An awkward silence settles over the table. Mom makes her way back in, the pie displayed beautifully on a piece of Castiel’s china. She sets it down where the casserole once was, wiping her hands nervously on the apron she’d donned from Castiel’s pantry. “Pie?”_ _ _ _

____Dad gets up, leaving the table. The front door slams, Mom and Sam wince, and Dean falls back into his chair, burying his face in his hands._ _ _ _

____What the hell was that?_ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Dean knocks on Castiel’s door, impatient. He’s been standing there for five minutes already and the door hasn’t opened, Castiel hasn’t peered out a window- nothing. It’s so unusual for Dean to be stuck on the porch, not allowed to enter Castiel’s space - his _lair_. Yesterday was a freaking disaster. Castiel… what? Puffed up his alpha ego? Showed off his dragonian side without outright turning into the beast? Against Dean’s _dad_ of all people. Like Dean’s hand was to be won, like Castiel was-

...courting him?

“Oh, fuck.” 

The door cracks open. Castiel is wearing his robe, his brow furrowed, eyes dark as he regards Dean. He’s hesitant to let Dean in, which he sure as hell should be, because honestly Dean should be on a rampage right about now. He should hoot and holler about Castiel treating him like a trophy to be won, he should put up a stink about Castiel telling his dad outright that if he can’t take care of Dean that he would be glad to-

“Dean, I-” 

Dean shoulders through the door, kicking it behind him and grabbing Castiel by the sooty lapel of his robe, drawing him in for a messy kiss. Sparks fly between them, literally, pink and gold as the kiss catches Castiel off-guard, his hands flying up to Dean’s shoulders, clearly unsure whether or not he should pull him closer or push him away. Castiel’s mouth tastes like what Dean thinks fireworks might taste like, the boy’s tongue shoving into the dragon’s mouth to swipe and nip, drawing back only so his teeth can sink into Castiel’s lower lip. 

Castiel seems to come back to himself, pushing Dean away enough to gain a few inches between their faces. His pupils are slitted but blown, some steam blowing out of his nostrils as he searches Dean’s face, confusion and shock written on his as he tries to figure out what just happened. 

“You’re courting me?” Dean asks. 

“I-” Castiel’s spine goes a little straighter, but he still looks unsure. “It was my intention to ask your father-” 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Obviously you and dad can’t talk about shit. And you do realize it’s twenty-twenty, right? Not _eighteen_ -twenty?” 

Castiel bristles, some blue sparks mixing with the pink sparks falling from his lips and nose. “It’s _romantic_ to ask for a partner’s hand. But I learned very quickly that your father is in no position to give you away.”

“I don’t _gotta_ be given away!” Dean throws his hands up in frustration. He’s flushed with anger and arousal, wanting to simultaneously choke Castiel and kiss him at the same time. Maybe he could get away with both. “If you wanna date me, Cas, you gotta ask _me_!” 

Castiel wrinkles his nose. “‘Dating.’ That’s too casual a term for what I would like with you.” 

Some of the wind comes out of Dean’s sails. “... What?” 

Running a hand through his messy hair, Castiel gathers his thoughts before letting out a little sigh. “I thought it was clear when you broke the curse, Dean.” 

“What?” Dean blinks, feeling like he’s missing something huge. 

“Our situation is not a fairy tale,” Castiel says with all the patience in the world, meeting Dean’s gaze, his pupils human-like once more and his features calm. “It is Fate.” 

“Fate,” Dean repeats, mouth flapping a bit. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, feeling a headache starting to form. “Give it to me straight, Cas.” 

“You were always destined to be the one to break the curse,” Castiel explains. “It had to be you. Your family moving here was not a coincidence. Your mother’s bloodline was destined to produce my mate. You were young, but you were the only one in the neighborhood who thought of my house as anything but scary, anything but an eyesore. You couldn’t understand why no one would do anything but complain. And then, finally… you came to me.” 

Dean nods along, the information sounding ridiculous but also… making sense. After all, he’s accepted that magic and dragons exist, so why not a bloodline destined to free a trapped dragon? 

Then, something clicks.

“ _Mate_?” 

“Courting you is a formality,” Castiel says casually. “Mating you is destiny and it will happen whether or not I have your family’s permission.”

“What, it’s written in the stars that we’re gonna sleep together?” Dean asks incredulously, suddenly feeling a little violated, to be frank. 

“When you kissed me, what was your intent?” Castiel asks plaintively.

“I- I dunno!” Dean says, taking a step away from Castiel. “I just… it just seemed like the right thing to do, man. You piss me off so bad that I don’t know what to do. But then… y’know, you also make me feel good and that makes me wanna kiss you, and then you get all dorky and that makes me wanna kiss you, and sometimes you get all,” Dean makes a floaty gesture with his finger towards his own eyes, “and _that_ makes me wanna kiss you.” He groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, speaking with resignation. “I just wanna kiss you, alright?” He feels a little less violated, now.

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, stepping towards him. He reaches up to grip Dean’s wrists gently, pulling them away from his eyes, allowing their gazes to meet. “I would never force you into anything. We will move at your pace.” 

“You’re immortal,” Dean blurts, “what if I die before I’m ready?”

“When you broke the curse you, too, became immortal,” Castiel says easily. “You will stop aging at thirty-five so that you may be my mate and still live comfortably in society.” Castiel tips his head in thought. “Although, we would have to leave this town before then, as now that the neighbors can see me, they’ll surely notice that I have not aged… and then will notice that you will stop aging…” 

“I’m-” Dean’s mouth goes a little dry. “All of this- I just- I have to go with it? I got no choice?” 

Castiel frowns softly. “You always have a choice, Dean. You can live out your regular life with me and your family, and then continue your immortal life with me somewhere else… or, you can reject me, and be magicked into forgetting ever meeting me.” 

Dean matches Castiel’s frown, his heart getting heavy. “What… what happens if I reject you?” 

“I will die.” 

Feeling his heart leap up into his throat, Dean finds himself shaking his head as he launches towards Castiel, wrapping the dragon up in a tight hug. Castiel seems caught off-guard by the sudden display of affection, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Dean as the boy buries his face in Castiel’s neck, huffing the calming scent of incense and petrichor.

“You can’t die, Cas.”

“That is the way my breed works. We live until we find a mate; if we mate successfully, we continue to live. If we are rejected, then we die. It is how it has always been.” 

“I…” Dean swallows thickly, pulling back and looking up at Castiel, taking in his stubbled jaw, his deep eyes, his straight nose. “I’m not rejecting you, ok? But I gotta… I gotta think about this. Is that ok?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says with a small nod and the slightest of smiles. 

Chewing his lip, Dean draws Castiel down for a chaste, sweet kiss, then pulls away shyly. “I’m, uh. I’m gonna go home and… the school year is almost over and I gotta figure out what I wanna do when I graduate anyway. So. I got… a lot to think about.” 

Castiel nods. “I understand, Dean. I will be here when you are ready.”

 _Because you can’t go anywhere without me,_ Dean’s brain unhelpfully reminds him. He puts on a brave smile, though, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, before opening the door. “See ya, Cas.” 

The dragon inclines his head amiably, and then Dean shuts the door. 

The stained glass depicts the dragon soaring over the valley, and before Dean’s eyes the dragon lands, curls up on itself, and starts snoozing.

He needs to think, and he needs to think fast.

\--*--

Mom notices that Dean doesn’t visit Castiel. So does Sam, but Sam is just nosy. Then again… so is mom. Dad doesn’t say shit, but that’s pretty par for the course, especially when it comes to Castiel and anything involving Castiel - Dean had been a little slow on the uptake, but Dad had definitely seen Castiel’s challenge for what it was and seems to have… conceded to it. 

Which is bizarre. 

Dean’s just lucky he hasn’t been beaten black and blue for being into dudes.

Anyway, Mom gently asks Dean over the next few weeks about Castiel. Dumb things like if Castiel cooks for himself, or does Castiel’s hedges need trimmed, even asking if Castiel has seen the Star Wars movies and if not, Dean should go over there and marathon them with him. Dean just barely holds back telling his mom that Castiel doesn’t even own a TV. Or a radio. Dean thinks he saw a phonograph in one of the libraries… 

_Anyway_. It’s clear to everyone that Dean should be with Castiel. And it’s pretty clear to Dean, too, but he’s also just trying to clear his head in general and look at things objectively, or whatever. He’s still a kid. He’s about to graduate high school, has no idea what he’s gonna do with his life… 

Because, like- if he decides to… mate… with Castiel, what will he be able to do? Will he be able to lead a normal human life and get a job and do whatever while Castiel stews in the house? Or will Castiel be able to come out with him places, so they can go on dates and trips and do all the things that Dean really likes doing and isn’t sure he’s ready to give up? He feels a little immature when he thinks about those things, but then he thinks about his parents and all the trips they took before they nested with children and all the crazy adventures they used to go on. 

Could Dean have that with Castiel? 

It’s been almost a month since he’s been to Castiel’s house. Since he kissed Castiel furiously and then left like a spooked kid. God, he feels dumb. He feels even dumber when he realizes that he doesn’t care what kind of life they lead… he just wants to _be_ with Castiel. He wants his grumpy frown, he wants his gummy smile, his messy hair and his elegant hands and he wants to catch the sparks that tumble out of his mouth and nose when he laughs. 

Aw, fuck. 

\--*--

Dean doesn’t need to knock. The door opens, welcoming him into the house. It’s still pristine as ever on the inside, the slight fragrance of smokey roses rolling and tumbling through the slightly drafty air. Dean breathes it in deep, lets it out through his nose, almost imagining what it would feel like if he could _smoke_ too. 

Heh.

“Cas?” 

His voice echoes and bounces back towards him, before the faintest trace of his melody trills up the stairs, grabbing his attention. He hasn’t been in Castiel’s lair since he first found him there, and he figures that’s where the dragon is now. He makes his way up the stairs one by one, marveling at how no matter how many he climbs it seems like five more add to the top; once he’s at the landing he passes all of the doors until he’s in front of Castiel’s, turning the key gently and allowing himself into the room. The maze through all of the treasure and trinkets is a little more crowded, Castiel somehow having either added more to the piles or just rearranging them. Meandering through, Dean manages to take a bit more of the details in; it seems like there’s something from every era tucked away. Chalices from European kingdoms, statues from the lost Egyptians, alien-like things that he doesn’t even recognize from any textbook or TV special he’s ever watched. 

He picks up a staff, marveling at it as he rotates it in his hands. The staff is a foot taller than him, made of some sort of wood with an animal skull embedded in the thick top. There are jewels in the eyeholes of the skull, reflecting all the lights around him in a prism, making it impossible to tell what the actual colors of the gems are. 

“That staff belonged to a great wizard,” Castiel’s voice comes from behind Dean, startling him slightly. Dean turns to look at him, pulse jumping at the scare. Castiel is smiling fondly as he looks at the staff. He’s wearing his sooty robe- well, it’s actually clean today- and nothing else, hair disheveled and skin looking sleep-warm. “She taught us the magic to make pocket dimensions so we could live among the humans in one form and fly the skies in the other.” 

Impressed, Dean looks over the staff with new eyes. “Is that the magic that turned your bedroom into your… uh, lair?” 

“Yes,” Castiel nods. He reaches out, gingerly taking the staff from Dean so he can lean it up against the pile of treasure Dean found it on. “The wizard died a thousand years ago, but her teachings live on in my knowledge.” 

Dean looks at the staff thoughtfully, coming to a rather depressing conclusion. “You’ve… seen a lot of people die, huh?” 

“I am the last of anyone I knew,” Castiel says with a small, solemn nod. 

“Are you…” the boy almost can’t say the word. “Are you the last of the dragons…?” 

Castiel’s slightly droopy eyes seem to get a little more heavy, his gaze dropping down a bit. “I am.” 

Pain like nothing Dean has ever felt before laces through his body. It’s like all his bones turn to stone all at once and his head goes light at the same time. His feet propel him towards Castiel, who eyes him cautiously; but when Dean wraps Castiel up in his arms the dragon goes limp, this time clutching to Dean like he’s never known a better embrace. Dean suddenly understands Castiel’s grumpiness, his reluctance to get close to anyone- how he’d let the curse overtake his beautiful home and lock him away in a place where he never saw another soul for over one hundred years. He understands why, when Dean broke the curse, Castiel made the baby steps to get closer to him- why Castiel had felt the need to prove his worth to Dean’s father, to show that he’d be a worthy mate, a worthy companion after so long of thinking he’d never meet another being, creature or human, ever again. 

Castiel’s reticence makes sense.

And boy, does Dean feel like a fucking idiot. 

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean says into the man’s messy hair. He smells like citrus and ash. “I didn’t know.” 

Castiel’s voice is muffled in the crook of Dean’s neck when he replies, “A dragon coupling must never be forced or coerced. A mate is supposed to come of their own free will.”

“I’m here,” Dean says, his voice choking up a little bit. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, ok? We’ll figure somethin’ out.” 

Castiel holds him a little tighter. 

Purple sparks fall from his eyes.

\--*--

Dean finishes out the school year, which is a freaking feat. He keeps good grades because the baseball team will kick him off if he doesn't, and also because his mom's oven mitts don't feel so soft when she uses them as a cushion for her swatting hand. He still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life, but he's already decided to take a break for a year and, if he feels like it, go to college the following year. No idea what he'll study, but maybe he'll figure it out without the stress of graduating with a decent GPA over his head.

He visits Castiel almost every day. Castiel doesn't venture off of his property, still wary of the hustle and bustle of the modern world, but he's a bit easier with welcoming visitors. Miss Mosely seems particularly fond of him, and Dean sees them frequently sitting on Castiel's porch swing, drinking tea and not exchanging a single word, yet enjoying each other's presence.

Dean's mom even visits Castiel. She brings her yarn and her stitches and shows Castiel how to embroider, and when he gets the hang of it he delights in customizing his waistcoats and quilting an entire blanket (not a curse word in sight) that's bigger than Dean's queen size bed. Dean's not sure if Castiel has a bed for his human form or if he just sleeps as his scaly self, so a quilt seems kind of weird, but Castiel is so dang _proud_ when he shows it to Dean, he melts. Domesticity looks good on Castiel, his blue eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with quiet satisfaction. 

He must have been so bored waiting for someone to save him.

Birthdays are an odd thing to Castiel, which makes sense. He only says he was born near winter solstice, no clue as to what the date was. He thinks birthdays are a little silly, but Dean can tell he sorta likes the commotion that surrounds them. When Dean's eighteenth birthday approaches Castiel catches on to Mom's trepidation about the date, a few days before Christmas asking Dean about it.

"Ah," Dean shrugs a little. He and Castiel are in the dragon's kitchen, Dean teaching a very eager lizard-man how to bake apple pie. Castiel won't come over for the holiday, but he wants to make treats for the Winchesters. "So like… for humans in this day and age, eighteen is the age of independence. You can work, live on your own, get a driver's license, go to college…" Dean stares down at the dough he's rolling out, frowning when it cracks.

"What will you be doing?" Castiel asks with interest. His sharp eyes are watching Dean reform the dough to fill the cracks, but Dean feels his gaze on his hands.

"I dunno." Dean shrugs, trying not to seem affected. They haven't kissed since Dean's sloppy, desperate lip lock, but he knows he thinks about it a lot. Maybe Castiel does, too. "Much of the same stuff, I guess."

Castiel turns to the bowl in front of him, picking up the wooden spoon so he can continue mixing the apple filling. "Eighteen means independence from your… parents?"

Shrugging again, Dean finally unrolls the dough into the round pie pan. "Yeah."

"That includes… dating whomever you wish?"

Dean slides a glance over to Castiel, whose nose is bursting with pink sparks. Grinning a little, feeling his grumpiness evaporate, Dean talks with a little more energy. "Yep. Dad can't give me shit about who I wanna be with."

"And there would be no need to…" Castiel waves his free hand in front of his face, blocking any soot from getting into the bowl, waving away smoke tendrils. "...ask him for your hand?"

"'Member what I said about not bein' a maiden?" Dean asks with amusement.

Castiel pushes the bowl towards Dean, who picks it up and starts gently pouring the mixture into the pie pan. "Of course. This is hypothetical."

"Mhm," Dean intones a bit sarcastically. 

The dragon drums his fingers over the wooden countertop, watching Dean intricately and carefully weave the lattice top of the pie. "The last time I was around humans, one did not gain independence until they worked and no longer lived with their family."

Dean shrugs, finishing the lattice and grabbing a different bowl and a brush to start applying the egg wash. "Sure. I don't got a job, though. And without money, I ain't leavin' home, either." After carefully putting the pie in the oven, Dean stands up to see Castiel staring at him with his usual intensity. "What?"

"I have been thinking… about reinventing the business Anael and I started," Castiel says carefully. "Selling flowers, but also… making other goods for people to purchase."

"Yeah?" Dean asks, interested. "What kinda goods?"

"I have always wanted to keep bees," Castiel muses softly, glancing out the kitchen window to the backyard, where the winter snow never seems to fall. "I could harvest their honey and sell it. I could plant berry bushes and fruit trees in the yard and make… goods with those."

Dean nods thoughtfully. "Yeah- and hell, with your magic you could grow some stuff that isn't native to this area. Just gotta have the seeds or starters, right?"

Castiel nods, "Correct. I enjoyed providing things that give others… joy. I don't necessarily need the income, but it would be nice to be busy again."

Grinning, Dean leans over the counter. "Let's come up with a plan."

\--*--

Dean pulls the muffins out of the oven, setting them on the wood top of the kitchen island. He sneaks a glance at where Castiel is in front of Dean’s laptop, frowning at the screen in consternation. He lets it be for a few moments, waving a pot holder over the top of the steaming tin, then turns to start cleaning up his mess. 

“Dean,” Castiel finally says, a nearly whiny tone to his voice that Dean never fails to find adorable. 

“Hm?” Dean replies airily, filling the sink with water and suds. 

“I can’t put the photos on the page.” Castiel sounds grumpy as ever and, honestly, sometimes Dean lets him struggle on purpose so he can swoop in and be rewarded with that gummy smile that he sees more and more of nowadays. 

Grabbing a dish towel, Dean dries his hands and wanders around to the other side of the island, where Castiel is perched on a stool. He looks at the basic webpage he’d designed for their business, then lifts his hand to start pointing at what Castiel needs to click on. 

“You can either drag-and-drop like this, or you can click into the upload folder.”

Castiel grumbles. “Why can’t we put an ad in the Sunday paper?”

“We can still do that,” Dean says, while showing Castiel how and where to put the photos, “but these days this has a way farther reach.” 

The dragon huffs, some soot blowing over the keyboard. “I don’t like… technology.”

Dean rolls his eyes, picking up the can of canned air so he can blast away the soot from the keys. “Yeah, pretty sure it doesn’t like you either.” He sets the can next to Castiel’s elbow once more, then returns to his task of cleaning up.

It’s February of the following year, Dean’s eighteenth birthday behind him. Castiel had alluded before Christmas that he wanted to start a business, and on Dean's birthday he had shyly, but firmly asked Dean to be his business partner. Dean had been pleasantly surprised, not blind to the fact that Castiel was covering the 'get a job' part of independence, so of course he’d said yes. Running a business in the twenty-first century is a little different than what it was like one hundred years ago, though, so Dean finally caved in and started taking online business classes from the local community college, just to get brushed up on everything they needed to do to be legit.

Money isn’t an issue because Castiel has… well, a friggin’ hoard. 

“Soon as the website’s done we can start advertising ourselves. But since we’re kinda ready now, I think we should start off small by selling things to the neighborhood,” Dean says, washing his hands. He opens up the butler’s pantry next to the fridge, walking in to start pulling down some collapsable boxes, bringing them back out to the island. 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, a bit distractedly. “Miss Mosely has already expressed interest in our apricot jam.” 

“The cafe next to the college only sells one type of pie,” Dean says with full offense. He starts assembling the boxes, the lids of which sporting a sticker of a dragon protecting a hoard of various fruits and pastries. 

“How dare they,” Castiel replies dryly.

Dean rolls his eyes, setting up the boxes and putting them aside. He levels Castiel with a serious look across the island, waiting for the dragon to sense his gaze so their eyes can meet. “It’s a fuckin’ tragedy, Cas. One cannot live off of _just_ pumpkin pie, and _seasonally_ at that.” 

The eye roll Castiel gives Dean is something he never needed to learn. “Yes, well, I suggest you write a strongly worded letter about why they need other pies to be served year-round.” 

“A strongly worded letter,” Dean mimics in a high-pitched voice. He huffs. “Nah, I don’t think they need like, full on pies. Maybe… handheld pies? Pocket pies? Mini pies?” 

“If you think any harder your brain will melt,” Castiel says idly, returning his focus to the laptop. 

“If it doesn’t have a catchy name, no one will buy it!”

“Our jams are jams, muffins are muffins, scones are scones… why do little pies need a special name?” Castiel asks, confused.

“‘Cause we’re selling them to the _youth_ ,” Dean says, like it’s obvious. 

Castiel sends him a blank look.

Dean pouts, starting to put the cooled muffins in the boxes. “Fine. Mini pies.” 

In the past few months that Dean and Castiel have been getting closer, Dean feels more and more comfortable. Not that Castiel ever made him _un_ comfortable, even when he’s a giant grumpy douche; Dean had been more wary of that fact that Fate or whatever predestined them to be… well, lovers. Dean, a virgin, and so emotionally constipated he can’t even tell his own brother he loves him, had been spooked on principle alone. How was he supposed to get close to an immortal being that’s been around for, like, as long as the earth itself, when he himself was just a dumb kid? What on earth could Castiel find attractive or interesting about him? But Dean’s insecurities just sort of… melted away in the first week, when he and Castiel fell into an easy familiarity.

Dean learned that Castiel was sassy, sometimes almost too much. He learned that he has a dry sense of humor that sometimes takes a second to register in Dean’s head. He learned that for as worldly and old Castiel was, he still had a childlike wonder and curiosity when it came to the world around him. He learned that Castiel isn’t scared of shit, and once Castiel felt like his magic wouldn’t drain if he set foot off of his property, it was hard sometimes to keep him home. Dean learned that Castiel was sort of awkward around people he didn’t know, but those he considered friends often got showered with his soft smiles, warm eyes, and gentle affection.

Dean learned, very quickly, that he was already in love with Castiel. 

Among all of this Dean also learned how to cohabitate with Castiel as well. He hasn’t moved in with the dragon, at least not yet because he’s still pretty young and even though his family is supportive of their… relationship… he knows his parents would throw a fit if Dean announced that he wants to move in with him. But that doesn’t stop Dean from spending every spare minute with Castiel, in this pretty old house, learning all of his quirks and habits.

All in all, Dean’s happy. They have a business together, they tend their business together, and Dean’s idle enjoyment of doing yard work for others has transformed into a botany and horticulture passion that he had no idea was locked up inside of him. Their fruit trees and berry bushes and even the vegetables rooted deep in the ground bring Dean a joy he didn’t know he possessed. Dean’s passion for baking and cooking also skyrocketed and took off, and all the while, Castiel silently and warmly supported him.

If, sometimes, he used magic to fix things that Dean ruined or burnt… well. It’s all about learning from mistakes, right?

\--*--

Being in a relationship with a dragon is… weird. Granted, Dean’s never been in a relationship before, so at nineteen, he feels especially young and inexperienced, but if _The Princess Bride_ taught him anything, it’s that he’s gotta just roll with it. He’s pretty sure that after dating someone for a (technical) year and a half there should be kissing, hand holding, and, well, sex- but none of those things are happening with Castiel. There’s not, like, a _burning_ need for it, honestly Castiel’s company is plenty, but Dean’s still a young man with… needs… so he tries to figure out how to ask someone, anyone, for help. 

“ _How to Seduce Your Dragon_ , the untold Disney tale,” Sam wails with laughter as he falls back on his bed, long hair flopping, cheeks flushed with delight. 

From the doorway, Dean curls his hands into fists as he does his best to not jump on top of his brother and whollop him. “Sammy, this is serious.” 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Sam sits up and tries to breathe normally, every inhale punctuated by little giggles. When he finally calms down he wipes his face with both hands, then sends Dean a bright smile. “Why don’t you talk to Mom about it?” 

Dean flushes. “‘Cause Mom don’t know Cas is a _dragon_ , you idiot. She thinks he’s just a forty year old dude that I’m replacing Dad with temporarily to get over some sort of issues I ain’t got.”

“Oh, you got issues,” Sam says as he scoots to the end of his bed, still chuckling intermittently.

“You gonna help or not?” Dean snaps.

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Sam says placatingly, though his voice is still a little too patronizing for Dean’s taste. “Have you done any research on your own?” 

“M’not good at that shit,” Dean grumbles. “You’re better at research.”

“You’d be good if you applied yourself,” Sam says, moving from his bed to his computer chair.

“You sound like Dad.”

Sam shudders as he boots up his laptop. “Gross.”

Dean grins, standing behind Sam’s chair. “Besides, I dunno how to tell if what I’m looking at is real or just some made up mumbo jumbo by perverted fangirls who write erotica in their spare time.”

“Y’know,” Sam says, clicking around, “ _they_ do research, too.” 

“Too much effort for the spank bank,” Dean says blandly.

“So: what’s the problem?” Sam asks, tilting his head backwards to look at Dean. “You guys, like, kiss and stuff, right?” 

Dean shakes his head. “No. I mean- I kissed him once, way back in the day, and he uh… ya know, looking back on it, doesn’t really seem like he reciprocated.” Dean says sadly.

Sam winces, “Ouch. Well, I guess researching mating habits of dragons would be the best place to start, but I dunno how to look up how they behave in their human form. I did some research after I found out and couldn’t come up with much. Cas was right, pretty much every dragon that ever existed is… gone.” 

Dean sighs. 

“Here’s a crazy idea,” Sam says, voice getting a little chipper. “Why don’t you ask _Cas_?” 

Dean groans. “Because I’m a “speck” on his timeline, man! I’m just a kid and he’s, like, older than God. I’d just “trifle” him with my insecurities.” 

“Cas says God is an asshole,” Sam says, turning back to his computer. 

“Which means Cas is a bigger asshole,” Dean grumbles. 

“Look,” Sam swivels around on his chair so he can look Dean in the eye. “You love him, right?” Dean doesn’t answer verbally, eyes dropping to his own shoes to hide his blush. “And he loves you, right?” Dean shrugs, but nods minutely. “So _talk_ to him. You guys have already made it this far. You own a business together, you went to _New York_ together last week for, like, a bee convention or whatever, and had a grand old time. You guys are meant to be.”

Dean keeps his eyes on his shoes.

Sighing, Sam turns back around. “I’ll keep researching, but I really think you gotta just talk to him, Dean.” 

Groaning, Dean flops onto Sam’s bed. He can put off the inevitable for a while longer, right?

\--*--

He starts off small. Mostly friendly touches here and there, which is basically what they’re used to at this point. A hand on Castiel’s shoulder, lower back, even occasionally letting his fingers sift through Castiel’s hair (though that results in Dean’s hand coming away sooty, and Castiel’s eyes sparkling with amusement when Dean has to go to the sink to wash it clean). Castiel responds well to these touches, almost like a cat. Slowly but surely Castiel starts returning the touches; a one-armed hug when Dean does well, his hand between Dean’s shoulder blades, fingers brushing against Dean’s hip.

The thing is: Castiel is fucking _hot_.

Figuratively and literally.

Physical touch is almost like a burn. Dean doesn’t get hurt, but he feels the tingles in his nerve endings, like he’s briefly touched a hot stove or been in the sun too long. It never hurts, but Dean’s unsure about prolonged contact. He figures that’s why Castiel doesn’t initiate physical contact too much. Maybe he knows he’s too hot for Dean’s puny human body?

Sam’s stupid voice echoes in Dean’s head almost every day. Dean knows he should just ask Castiel, damn it, but talking is _hard_ and they already work so well together without excessive words (Dean’s a chatterbox, but it’s never anything important), so Dean kinda feels like he’d be… popping their bubble if he voiced his concerns.

Because honestly, not being physically intimate with Castiel _isn’t_ that big of a deal. Dean’s just… curious, ok? Because he’s young and dumb and he’s only ever made out with, like, three people ever, Castiel included, and he wants to know what it’s like to kiss other parts of the body, have someone kiss _his_ body, wants to know what it’s like to feel someone’s weight and hands and… 

Phew.

Castiel is amazing, though. For the year and a half they’ve been together basically nonstop (Dean still lives at home, but he pretty much only sleeps there now) they’ve only gotten closer. Castiel gives Dean tidbits of times past, historically accurate accounts of different events of the world. He’s patient and understanding and a grouch in the morning without at least three cups of green tea (with honey), but he has started looking at Dean with unfiltered adoration and treating him more like an equal and a friend instead of a stranger from a different time he struggled to understand. Castiel still hates technology and keeps it to the bare minimum, though he did cave and transform the first floor library into a Netflix & Chill room (still with the books, just rearranged for a decently sized television and a coffee table in front of the couch that is now worn from him and Dean watching movies and shows together). He also has a tablet on a little stand in the kitchen so he can follow the Food Network app in cooking, baking, as well as learning new tips and tricks for the things he likes to create. He asks after Dean’s family (though never asks about Dad) and still hangs out with Mom frequently on the front porch to quilt and knit and whatever else it is they do. Dean’s pretty sure they gossip. 

Castiel has taken a shining to Sam, but in more of a fatherly sense, praising his schoolwork and encouraging him to hang around in the garden or wherever he finds peace on the dragon’s land so he can work without disturbance. 

Still no one questions the fact that it’s always seventy degrees and sunny at the house on the corner. Dean asks about it one day, Castiel revealing that there’s a charm on the house to make people not put too much thought into anything magic they might potentially come across. Pretty smart, Dean thinks. So simple, but so useful.

Anyway, Dean knows that Castiel loves him because no matter what, Castiel only has eyes for him. If Dean is in the same room as his family and Castiel, he gets priority. When they travel, Castiel ignores pretty much anyone, and Dean gets priority. For anything, as long as Dean is in front of the dragon, Castiel’s eyes are only on him. It’s intense… but Dean likes being the center of his attention. 

If only he could get that attention to _shift_ a little bit…

\--*--

“Dean.” 

Dean stays bent over on his knees under the sink. “What?” 

Castiel doesn’t reply right away. Rolling his eyes a little, Dean returns to tightening the pipes. There’d been a small leak, one that _drip drip drip_ ed onto Dean’s neatly organized beneath-the-sink area, soaking the cardboard box that houses the Febreze-scented garbage bags. Not really a big deal, except when Dean went to go move the box and it basically disintegrated under his hands. Yuck. 

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but Dean feels his gaze like a brand.

Sighing, Dean twists his body around so he can crane his neck over his shoulder and look at his… boyfriend? Mate? Whatever. “ _What_?” 

Lifting a finger, Castiel points to somewhere around Dean’s midsection. “What… is that?” 

Dean frowns. “What is what?” 

Castiel frowns. “That.” 

“I can’t- damn it, Cas,” Dean shifts so he rests his butt on his heels, now turning his body around so he can try to see what Castiel is pointing at. It’s… oh. Heh. Heheh. Grinning a little, Dean sends Castiel a playful, but measured look. “I know you know what lace looks like, buddy.” 

Blue eyes blink inquisitively, dropping down to Dean’s waist again, where he hadn’t realized his panties were peeking above his waistband. “Are those not… women’s undergarments?” 

“Anyone can wear anything they like,” Dean says, totally unbothered. Castiel has a lot to learn, tends to learn at his own pace, and also usually prefers Dean to teach him things. “Including panties.” 

Castiel mouths the word ‘panties’, tilting his head one way, then the other. Dean resumes his position under the sink. When Castiel’s fingers touch his skin Dean hisses in surprise and knocks his head on the piping, groaning in pain and wriggling out from beneath the sink, rubbing his head and glaring at the dragon. 

“The hell, man?” 

“Are they-” Castiel looks torn between rubbing Dean’s head and reaching for his panties. His hands end up waving uselessly in the air. “Apologies, Dean, I didn’t mean to startle you. I merely wanted to… see.” 

Shifting around so his butt is on the floor, denim-clad legs spread slightly as he leans back on his hands, Dean sends what he hopes is a cocky smirk up at Castiel. “You do, huh?” 

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “Your cheeks have flushed. Are you embarrassed?” 

Dean’s jaw ticks, the smile on his lips wavering ever so slightly. “F’course not.”

Castiel’s eyes drop to Dean’s crotch. “Then… may I see them?”

“Right here?” Dean asks, suddenly losing a fraction of his bravado. His pulse spikes. A sweat breaks out on his neck. They’re in the kitchen, but Castiel… dang it, Castiel doesn’t have a frame of reference for what’s appropriate or not. Throwing caution to the wind, Dean decides: fuck it. “Sure. Watch real close, ok?” Shifting up onto his knees and turning around again, Dean closes the cabinet door under the sink. All repairs are done. He pushes the tools out of the way, then unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. More heat courses through him. His cock is half hard. He can still feel Castiel’s gaze on him. 

Letting out a slow breath, Dean very slowly starts shimmying his jeans down, his hips accompanying the movement with little swings. He doesn’t dare look back to gauge Castiel’s reaction; his jeans slip over the swell of his ass, his pink, lacy, nearly see-through panties on display, the cut of them accentuating his rear into, what he hopes is, the perfect peachy shape of any sane person’s dreams. Letting his jeans rest just under the meat of his ass, Dean feels his heart try to leap out of his throat as he looks coyly over his shoulder.

Castiel is frozen, his eyes glued to Dean’s ass. His stubbled jaw is set, blue eyes blazing, and there are gold and pink sparks puffing from his nostrils along with little clouds of smoke. With every exhale more sparks fall, Castiel’s cheeks coloring the prettiest of pinks. 

“Do you…” Dean wets his suddenly dry lips. “Do you like them?” 

After a few quiet beats, Castiel speaks. His voice is a low growl, cavernous and echoing, some gold sparks falling from his lips, too. “Turn around, Dean. I wish to see the front.” 

A little awkwardly, Dean grabs the counter to heft himself up to his feet. He turns around slowly, pushing his jeans down a bit more, giving Castiel an eyeful of the bulge in the front of his panties. His chub is leaving a wet spot on the lacey fabric, which only grows bigger when Castiel’s eyes zero in on it.

“D-d-d-do you… ah… uh…” Words suddenly can’t come out of Dean’s mouth in any sort of sensible way. “I, uh, mm, I r-really like… uh… these- they’re…” Whooshing out a breath, Dean drops his chin to his chest and closes his eyes, speaking in a rush: “I really like wearing them.” 

Suddenly there are fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. Castiel’s pupils are slitted, sparks falling from his lips as he says, “You’re beautiful, Dean. These enhance you very well.” 

Dean’s skin tingles where Castiel’s fingers press against it. “Really? I thought…” Unbidden, Dean’s eyes get wet, and a surge of emotion grips him. “You never… We haven’t… And I thought maybe you didn’t-” Oh, no. He sniffles. “We been together for a while, and I-”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel frowns, lifting both hands to cup Dean’s jaw. “You’re insecure because we haven’t consummated our mating.” 

Dean doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods. 

“ _Oh_ ,” true remorse fills Castiel’s voice as he draws Dean in, kissing his forehead. Dean’s catching up in height, now only an inch shorter than Castiel at twenty years old and barefoot in their old lady kitchen. The dragon’s embrace is warm, not burning, Dean sinking into it and burying his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. His stubble scrapes across Dean’s scalp pleasantly, the younger man’s arms wrapping around Castiel’s solid waist. “I apologize, Dean. Times really have changed and I never considered that consummation would be…” he trails off, sighing, squeezing Dean’s frame. “I find you so beautiful, Dean. I worry that I would do something to hurt you.” 

“What, like set me on fire?” Dean laughs wetly. When Castiel doesn’t reply, Dean pulls back with slightly wide eyes, searching the dragon’s face. “... Really?” 

“I… don’t know,” Castiel admits. “I, too, have never coupled with someone before. Given that you’re a human, I’m unsure how it would… work, between us.” 

“Well,” Dean tries for some bravado, “we’ve got holes, and things to put in the holes, so, uh… y’know…” he makes a crude gesture with his hands, which causes Castiel to roll his eyes. 

“I’m aware of what needs to happen physically, Dean,” he says in his fond, scolding voice. “I worry that I will lose control and harm you somehow. Either… with my heat, or my talons, or fangs…” 

Dean scans over Castiel’s body curiously. When it’s just him and Dean he wears slacks and button-downs, but never exposes any skin. His collar is always buttoned up to his adam’s apple, sleeves always down to his wrists, or rolled back to midway up his forearm. Dean, suddenly, is aware of the fact that he hasn’t seen much of Castiel… at all. Whereas Dean is typically in some state of casual undress; shirt off while doing yard work, threadbare tees and loose sweats when they’re lounging, pretty much always barefoot if he can help it. Castiel is the most dressed down when he’s wearing a robe and nothing else, but the robe is always securely fashioned, and he only wears it first thing in the morning when he’s too sleepy to wake up without a healthy dose of caffeine. 

Chewing his lip, their hips still pressed together in their embrace, Dean lifts his hands up to the collar of Castiel’s shirt. “Can I…” 

Castiel’s chest rises and falls quickly with his breath. “No human has ever seen this form fully.”

“Why,” Dean tries playfully, “you all scaly or somethin’?” 

Castiel doesn’t reply.

Dean meets his sapphire, slitted gaze, gulping thickly. Lowering his eyes back to the buttons, Dean starts popping them through the holes in the fabric one by one. He doesn’t part the shirt just yet, focusing more on undoing all the buttons. Castiel is eerily silent. Dean can’t even hear his breaths, though he feels the warmth puffing over his skin. He stops halfway, but Castiel reaches up and presses his hands back to his shirt, encouraging him silently to finish. So, he does, and once the shirt is fully unbuttoned he takes a breath, gripping either side of the fabric and gently pushing it apart and back over Castiel’s shoulders.

The first thing that registers are the teal scales peppering over Castiel’s tan, tan skin. They shimmer in the light of the kitchen windows, iridescent almost, shifting green, purple, and pink as the light shifts over them. They’re in patches; one over Castiel’s right pectoral, a smattering over his left ribs, a thin trail across his collarbones, and then concentrated patches over either of his hips. Dean reaches to push the shirt all the way off Castiel’s shoulders, which are crowned like armor with the scales, the sound of Castiel’s shirt hitting the floor drowned out by the blood rushing in Dean’s ears. 

The dragon shifts slightly, drawing Dean’s eyes over his shoulders to where-

“Holy _shit_.”

Smiling wryly, Castiel turns around as Dean pulls back, to show him the little scaly, leathery wings protruding from his back. Their span is about a foot on either side, not too huge, but definitely not small enough to hide under his shirts. More scales rain down Castiel’s back, curving around his hips to the front.

“Do you normally, uh, conceal these? In the other realm?” Dean asks, reaching up in halting movements, unsure if he can touch them.

Castiel hums the affirmative.

“They’re…” Dean chuckles a little, fingers finally touching over the arch. They’re a bit bony, spiny almost, but smooth like river rocks as Dean’s fingers swipe over them. “They’re kinda cute, Cas.” 

The wings ruffle slightly, and when Dean checks Castiel’s expression, it’s delightfully prissy. “I’m a _dragon_ , Dean. I’m not cute.” 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy,” Dean says, returning to his exploration of the wings. The bones and joints are shimmery with scales, but the actual wing part is thin and leathery, though still reflecting the same color as the scales. “Have I ever told you how much I love your coloring?” 

Castiel flushes down the back of his neck, some pink sparks falling from his nose as he ducks his head. “No.”

“Well, I do,” Dean says more firmly. Once he has his fill of touching the wings (for now), he moves back in front of Castiel, pressing close to his bare chest. His pants are still low, exposing his panties, and what a pair they must look like, Castiel shirtless, Dean’s panties and ass hanging out of his pants. “This doesn’t weird me out, Cas. You’re… you. And I uh, lo-,” he coughs lightly. “I love you no matter what you got goin’ on under your clothes, ok?” 

This seems to soften Castiel, his eyes warming and his lips curving in a small smile. “Thank you, Dean. And I love you and all your fearlessness, including your desire to wear…” Castiel’s fingers skim the line of Dean’s panties where they rest snugly against his hip bones. Dean distinctly feels the press of an elongated fingernail. _Talons_ , he thinks. “...such pretty undergarments.” 

Heat zings through Dean, this time unrelated to Castiel’s core temperature and how that heat seems to roll off his body in invisible tendrils. Castiel leans closer, his lips at the shell of Dean’s ear, one of his nails dipping between the elastic of the panties and Dean’s hip bone, the sharpness unmistakable. 

“Shall we leave them on?” 

The tension snaps. Dean’s arms go around Castiel’s shoulders, their mouths smash together, Castiel backing Dean up against the island as their tongues slip and slide together, hungry. The sparks meeting Dean’s tongue feel like pop rocks, pleasant and tingly, Dean letting out an embarrassingly needy moan as Castiel pushes his pants down the rest of the way. Kicking them off Dean hops up onto the island, the wood cool against his ass through the panties, but things get hotter and hotter the more Castiel kisses him. The kiss breaks so they can catch their breath, Castiel’s lips moving to the hollow of Dean’s throat, more sparks raining down on his skin. Dean’s hands scrabble a bit before reaching under Castiel’s armpits and around, his fingers finding their grip at the base of Castiel’s wings. 

The resounding growl Castiel lets out rumbles Dean from his ears to his toes, his dick now fully hard and letting out a little blurt of precum in reply. Whimpering, Dean starts talking nonsensically, demanding that Castiel get rid of the rest of his clothes while simultaneously demanding that he not stop touching him and, well, those are two different things, though Castiel seems content in dragging his talons over Dean’s belly, goosebumps erupting in their wake. 

“Fuck, fuck, kitchen probably-” Dean gulps down a breath, dropping his head back. In regular day to day life Castiel doesn’t have fangs but those are definitely fangs scraping across Dean’s adam’s apple. “We can’t do this in the kitchen, Cas-” 

Grumbling his assent, Castiel moves his hands under Dean’s buttocks, hoisting him. Dean’s legs automatically wrap around Castiel’s waist, and in the next blink they’re in Castiel’s lair tumbling onto a bed piled with furs and silks. Dean’s brain tries to catch up but his dick tells him to stow it until they’re done. They roll around a bit, tussling, until Castiel winds up between Dean’s legs, Dean on his back, the dragon looming over him with his wings flared wide. 

It’s an amazing thing, a worked up Castiel. His emotions are typically docile, unless he’s cranky, which he tends to feel in full force. _This_ Castiel, with flushed cheeks and gold falling from his pink lips, pupils slitted and eyes practically glowing, well… what a sight. Dean feels ravenous and parched at the same time. Castiel’s clothes have disappeared during their magical teleport and _that_ is…

“ _Damn_ ,” Dean breathes out. 

Firstly, Castiel’s cock is fucking huge. There are no scales on it, for which Dean is secretly thankful for, but it’s meaty and long and wow. His balls are fat and heavy, and God damn, there’s not a single strand of hair on his body. Dean’s eyes trail down to his strong, thick thighs, where more scales shimmer into existence, curling around the backs of his knees and back to his shins, ending on the tops of his feet. Castiel is normally very pleasant to look at, but naked Castiel with all his shimmery scales and his fangs and his talons? 

Dean didn’t think he was particularly freaky, but. Here we are. 

“C’mere,” Dean breathes out, reaching up for Castiel.

The dragon goes willingly, their lips meeting in more hungry, passionate kisses, gold sparks _smack smack smack_ ing between them as they move. Dean’s hands slide down his scaly sides, over his bare hips, following the happy trail of turquoise shimmer to the base of his cock where he wraps his fingers around the girth, giving an experimental pull. Castiel presses his forehead to Dean’s, closing his eyes and panting, moving his hand between them to return the favor. 

Electricity shoots up Dean at the source, making his hair stand on end and his toes curl as spontaneous orgasm overcomes him and makes him cry out in surprise and ecstasy. He falls, boneless, panting heavily and looking up at Castiel with awe… and then irritation.

“Dude!” 

Castiel is busy licking Dean’s cum from his elegant fingers, his talons back with a turquoise shift once the cum is cleaned from them. He arches a brow, sending Dean a cool look, smacking his lips once his fingers and talons are clean.

“I wasn’t- that was-” Dean flushes deeply, spluttering in embarrassment. “I wanted to last longer.” 

“And I wanted to make you cum,” Castiel replies easily. He shifts to kneel between Dean’s legs, running his palms along the inside of Dean’s soft inner thighs, parting his bowed legs lovingly. His eyes drop to Dean’s panties, which he’d managed to tuck under Dean’s balls before orgasm. “It doesn’t end here.” 

“Pretty sure orgasming means- oh _fuck_ ,” Dean cuts off sharply, chest rising and falling rapidly when Castiel’s fingers encircle his soft cock and stroke it back to life, as if by magic.

Magic.

Oh.

“Are you mojo’ing my dick?” 

Castiel just flashes a smirk before ducking his head. His tongue comes out to lick along the shaft, Dean marveling at how long and… well, serpentine it is. Not forked, but very dextrous as it licks up and down Dean’s shaft. Castiel mentioned that he’s never ‘coupled’ with anyone before but damn, his instinct is good, because he moves his mouth and tongue in all the ways that make Dean squirm and moan. Pulling off, Castiel purses his lips slightly, some gold sparks falling into the slit of Dean’s cock - Dean flinches, flexes, then moans, the static traveling down his urethra and settling pleasantly deep within. Castiel’s fingers stroke him, Dean’s hands fall useless to the sides, and it only takes another minute or two before Dean blows his load again. 

Panting heavily, Dean reaches up to bat Castiel’s hands away from his flagging cock. “Gimme a break, oh my God.” He instead puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him up for a deep kiss, tasting himself on that wicked tongue and then slipping a hand down Castiel’s smooth, chiseled body towards his erection. “Lemme return the favor.” 

Rocking his hips into Dean’s hand, Castiel huffs a soft moan into the crook of his neck. Dean’s forefinger doesn’t meet his thumb around Castiel’s girth, thick as a Coke can and long as a bottle, the head bulbous and spongy-soft. When Castiel exhales smoke plumes, bouncing off of Dean’s neck to erupt over their heads, an atomic bomb of pleasure as Castiel reaches climax as well, spilling over Dean’s fingers and over the softness of his lower belly. Dean chances a glance down and feels a little giggle erupt from his lips when he sees that Castiel’s cum also has an iridescent sheen to it; he swipes his fingers through it, brings it to his lips, and sucks it into his mouth like candy. It tastes sweet, kind of like the lavender-honey Castiel mastered in his apiary, and when Dean’s fingers are clean he wraps Castiel up in a hug, mindful of his wings. 

Castiel goes boneless. His wings disappear into the ether so he can roll over and draw Dean towards him, their legs tangling, sweat sticking them together in odd places. Dean can’t stop smiling, his heart pitter-pattering. A low rumble starts up in Castiel’s chest, rhythmic with his breathing, and after a few moments of rest, Dean finally takes in their surroundings.

“Did you magic this bed here specifically for us to have sex on?”

Castiel snuffles into Dean’s neck wordlessly, though the rumbling intensifies.

Chuckling a little, Dean lifts his hands to run his fingers through Castie’s hair, enjoying the silky feeling of the soot coating his skin. “Are you… purring?” 

“I am not a cat, Dean,” the dragon replies, though with the purrs rumbling through his words, it’s quite obvious that he _is_ purring, and doesn’t care enough to stop it. 

Smiling, Dean closes his eyes and settles down for a well deserved post-orgasm nap. He reaches with his spare hand to put his panties back to rights, then relaxes when Castiel catches his hand and holds it between their bodies.

Surrounded by Castiel’s purrs, the smell of petrichor, and the comfort of the silk and furs… Dean has been waiting a long time for this, but it’s just as perfect as he’d imagined.

\--*--

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Sam hits the floor as he enters the house, sprawling himself flat to narrowly avoid the red, fizzing streak of energy that flies out of the door. Dean comes running into the foyer, breathless, hands on his knees as he hangs his head to catch his breath.

“Sorry Sammy, I uh… that one got away from me,” Dean says sheepishly.

Sam glares up at Dean, his bitch face still rather remarkable for aging all the way up to twenty. “Why do you suck so bad at magic?” 

“Because he also sucks at meditating,” Castiel says dryly as he, too, enters the foyer. “Welcome, Sam. Would you like some tea?”

Standing up, Sam brushes himself off and then checks his hair a few times to make sure none of it is singed off. Huffing, he nods. “Hey, Cas. Tea would be awesome.” He shoots Dean a glare as Castiel leaves, whispering furiously under his breath, “You did that on purpose.”

Dean smiles beatifically. “Did I?” 

Rolling his eyes, Sam straightens his satchel. “ _Anyway_ , how’s it going? Haven’t heard from you all week.”

They start walking towards the kitchen together while Dean says, “Ah, me n’ Cas have been busy fulfilling orders all week. We’re getting ready to sell online and we’ll be sending off our first batch tomorrow. Thankfully it’s Charlie, y’know, in the next town over? So if our stuff arrives all fucked up she won’t be mad. We gotta figure out how we can ship things without them spoiling or getting destroyed.”

Sam takes his satchel off to hang it underneath the island as he takes a seat, sending both Castiel and Dean a quizzical look. “Why don’t you just spell the boxes so your things arrive perfect?” 

Castiel and Dean both fall deadly silent. 

Sam looks between them. 

Castiel walks over with a tea tray, carefully and smoothly pouring Sam a cup. He doctors it for him, then turns around again to start clanking something else around. Dean is staring at Sam. The silence is suffocating. 

“You could do that, right?” Sam asks. 

Dean doesn’t move. Castiel’s clanking gets louder. 

“Or is that against some um… ethics code or something?” 

“As a matter of fact,” Castiel says, his voice much louder than it normally is, “that hadn’t crossed our minds.” 

Dean glares daggers at Sam. 

Sam’s smile freezes on his face. 

“No,” Dean says through clenched teeth, “it hadn’t.” 

Looking between them, Sam shifts on his stool. “Is… is this a bad time? I can come over uh. Some other time. A time that isn’t now.” 

“Yep,” Dean says, smacking Sam’s shoulder a little harder than probably necessary. “See ya later Sammy.”

“ _Sam_ ,” he replies bitchily, before grabbing his satchel and making a hasty retreat.

\--*--

It’s been eight years since Dean climbed up those rickety, creaky steps, and six years since he and Castiel had… well, mated? And only four years since they _consummated_ their relationship. Two years ago Dean had finally moved in with Castiel, his mom agreeing to it with a charmed smile and his dad giving a noncommittal grunt that could have gone either way, to be honest. Together they’ve built a business, local and online, catering to coffee shops and cafes and even doing small events like weddings and corporate meetings. Being able to sell their goods online and also being able to set their own hours and quotas has kept them sane and prevented them from getting overworked; and has left _plenty_ of time for them to spend time… together. 

They’re not wanting for money. If Castiel had his way he wouldn’t charge anyone a single cent for their goods, but in order for them to keep their licenses and be able to provide all their services, they have to take at least a small commission fee. As the years go by they settle into their house, they settle into each other, and the world moves around them. 

\--*--

Dean’s thirty-fifth birthday sneaks up on him. They go to his parent’s house for a small affair, Sam flying in from the big city to join them as well. Sam knows that this is the end of Dean Winchester’s road, that this is the end of his mortal life, but Dean’s parents don’t know that. They haven’t caught on that they’ve gotten old and grey and Castiel has stayed the same age, charmed into seeing Castiel at the age they think he is. It’s a little bittersweet, Dean thinks as his mom sets down a single cupcake in front of him, the true meal her homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes. After today he and Castiel will leave this sleepy town, they’ll leave their pretty house, they’ll leave his family and neighbors so they can start a new life together. They’ve decided to go to Texas and operate a ranch - Dean’s bashful childhood dream - and have already told Sam how to get ahold of them. 

Dean hugs his mom extra tight. He shakes his dad’s hand firmly. He rolls his eyes and flicks Sam’s man bun. 

He doesn’t look back at his mortal life as he takes Castiel’s hand and walks back to the house on the corner. He doesn’t look back at his mortal life as they enter Castiel’s lair and lock the door behind them. He doesn’t look back at his mortal life as they create a portal together, one big enough and strong enough to take them and the lair with them to the house they’d already bought in Texas. 

He turns to Castiel. He’s now an inch taller than the dragon, broader in places too. Castiel returns his gaze, a soft smile on his features. Dean leans in for a kiss. Their lips meet, their hands lift, red and blue magic swirling in the air to start opening the portal. With the wind whipping around them, the vortex vanishing items one by one, Dean looks into Castiel’s slitted pupils and feels warmth expand in his chest. 

“I love you,” he says.

Castiel’s scales shimmer. “And I, you.” 

Gold and pink sparks burst from their lips when they kiss, and then they’re gone. 

Off to start the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *showers pink sparks on all my faithful readers*


End file.
